Eden
by Vampiric Charms
Summary: Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree. J/W, In-Progress.
1. Chapter 1

**I told you I would keep writing!**

**This one takes place after _Fear Itself_, but you don't have to have read that one to read this one. What you need to know that happened previously: This is probably about two years after the end of the show, so around 2008. It takes place in the summer - late June and into July. Jordan and Woody are together, as was pretty much outright said would happen in the season finale, and they're living in the house they bought in my previous story.  
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**Otherwise, this just jumps right into the action. Everything will unfold in coming chapters. The rating is for theme and language.  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. Also, I do not have a medical background and, though I did do some research, I don't claim that any of this is correct.**

**Enjoy!**

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_**Eden**_

**Chapter 1**

_Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree._

"What the hell is this?" Woody asked in confusion, dropping the card and the envelope it came in on his desk and looking up at the courier who had brought it up to him. That was all it said, scrawled out in small, tidy print across a square piece of expensive-feeling cardstock.

"I don't know, sir," the young man said with a noncommittal shrug. "Someone just dropped it off for you at the front desk and asked me to bring it up to you thirty minutes later."

Woody flipped the fancy envelope over. His name – Detective Woodrow Hoyt – was written on the front in that same neat, scrawling handwriting. "Thanks," he mumbled, starting to feel odd.

As the courier left and Woody was about to put the things away to study later, he felt something else inside the envelope and looked again. A grainy color photograph, the kind that comes out when you're too far away but you try to get the camera to zoom in as far as it can anyway. The photograph was of Jordan. There was no timestamp, but she was on the porch of their home, mindlessly checking through the mail before going inside. It could have been taken any time since they had moved in there.

His heart tightening suddenly, he turned it over. _You must not forget that a monster is only a variation._

The same handwriting.

He stood so quickly his chair flew out from under him and hit the ground with a loud smack.

xXx

When he arrived at the house nearly twenty minutes later, the front door was wide open. He ran inside, radio out and calling for a squad car and an ambulance as his brain quickly filtered through the broken bar stool against the wall and tossed furniture, broken glass, ripped papers, and strewn books from the countertop. There was a cast-iron pan in the middle of the floor, too, well out of place from the kitchen. But it was the blood spatter right in front of him that caught and held his attention.

"Jordan!"

She was lying face-down in the living room to his right, having almost reached a phone on the side table by the couch but not quite. Blood stained the floor all around her and tracked out into the kitchen and hallway, where she had obviously struggled and finally given up when she had nothing left to fight with.

"Jo. Jordan." Woody ran to her side and gently rolled her to her back, his heart pounding so hard it felt like a hummingbird was trapped in his chest. The rest of the room – the mess, the broken glass under his knees, the torn sofa cushions nearby, even the fact that the person who did this might still be there – faded from his mind as he blindly felt for her pulse. Tears blurred his vision when he found it, and he choked out her name again. "Jordan, please. Jordan. Jordan!"

Her eyes fluttered, unable to focus but hearing his voice and trying to find him anyway. "T-tension pneumothorax," she rasped, using all of her energy to concentrate.

"What?" Woody asked, confused and horrified at the medical jargon coming from her mouth.

"Left…left lung collapsing."

Her breathing was shallow and labored, and he noticed then with a sickening jolt in his stomach that the majority of the blood was pouring from a deep wound on the left side of her abdomen. His hands rushed to it in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding, but the fluid seeped easily through his fingers as though they were fine mesh. The damage was done. "No…no. Jordan. Jo. No…please…"

"Three m-minutes," she said so softly he had to strain to hear. "Oxygen starvation. Already…can't breathe."

"I've called for help," he begged, having to resist the urge to scoop her into his arms so he wouldn't hurt her more. "You just need to hold on a little longer. Please. _Please_, Jo." The tears had turned into desperate crying and he found he couldn't take his gaze away from her face, afraid that if he did for one second she would disappear.

"Can't…"

He was about to argue with her when she pulled in another ragged breath and forced her eyes open again, though only able to stare blankly at the ceiling. "One thing you can d-do."

"Anything!" Woody all but shouted. "Oh, God, Jordan, I'll do anything if it will keep you with me. Just tell me what to do. _Tell me what to do_, please." He had given up trying to cover the wound, and he ran one of his hands urgently over her hair, not caring that it was covered in blood, smearing it into the strands or across the bruised skin of her face. She tried to take a breath to respond but was unable to, and he couldn't hide the sob that escaped as he watched her struggling. He lowered his forehead to hers, wishing with all his might that he could fix this. "Jordan…"

Finally she was able to get enough air into her failing lungs to speak again. "Field kit, scalpel. Number twenty-t-two. Hurry."

He was loath to leave her side, but he ran to the front closet where she kept a spare field kit for when she was called on an emergency and didn't have time to go by the morgue first. He ripped the bag open and dumped the contents on the floor. He had never noticed before that she'd kept scalpels in here, but it made sense. There were three of them, each individually sealed in sanitized packaging, and he was able to find the one she had asked for. He brought it back to her and set it on the floor, still sealed. "Here, I have it."

"Good…" she exhaled softly. Her eyes were closed again and her lips were turning blue. "Now need a tube. Like…outside…of a pen."

Woody's face paled. He'd seen enough movies to know where she was going with this, and the sick feeling in his stomach quadrupled. "Jordan, I…I…"

"Hurry."

Shaking, he pulled his favorite pen out of his pants pocket. "Here."

Using what strength she had left, she stretched her arm out to find his hand with her own. He grasped it tightly in his, bringing them both toward his lips to kiss her knuckles. But before he could, she tugged at him and weakly pressed his fingers to a point on her side under her left arm. "Cut here."

"Jo -"

"Then…put in the tube." She forced her eyes open one more time. There was no spark in them, but she turned her gaze toward his voice even though she couldn't focus on him. "D…don't be scared. And if…something happens…not your fault. Hear me?" Woody started to shake his head, to ask if there was some other way, when her fingers still in his spasmed briefly as her muscled convulsed from lack of oxygen. "Few seconds…" she hissed. "Love you, Farm Boy. Do it."

Acting quickly and trying to ignore the bile rising in his throat, Woody took the inkwell out of the pen and unwrapped the scalpel. He ripped the clothing away to expose her skin, which was growing pale. The point she had shown him was burned into his brain, and probably would be forever. Taking the scalpel into his hand the way he had watched her do hundreds of times before, he pressed the edge to her skin without any pressure. He couldn't do it. He could hardly even watch her autopsy a dead stranger! How in the hell was he supposed to do this to the woman he loved more than anything in this world, cause her pain while she was still alive?

He looked back at her face. Her eyelids, now closed and unable to open again, were as blue as her lips. She was dying. Her lungs couldn't take in any more air, and she was dying on their living room floor. She had told him not to be scared, and he knew that held two meanings: Don't be scared of this task before him right now and don't be scared of losing her if the worst should happen. He had to take it as the first.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," he moaned, putting more pressure behind the blade so that fresh, bright red blood welled under it. "Jordan, I'm so sorry!"

Pushing the rising vomit down – at least until he knew she was going to be okay – he made the incision deeper and deeper until he realized he had done enough. Then he pushed the pen casing through the skin, tears falling continuously down his cheeks. There was a faint hiss as air was released from where it shouldn't be and suddenly her breathing became slightly less labored. She was fully unconscious, though, and she made no movement, no sign of coming to.

All he could do now was wait for the ambulance to arrive. He had only called for it less than ten minutes before, but it felt like hours. Adrenaline, panic, and horror intermingled and he lowered his forehead to rest against hers again, crying uncontrollably as he cupped her face, uncaring of the tears dropping down to look like her own. The faint puff of her breath against his lips was the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely. "Jordan, Jordan…."

It was only a minute later that the EMTs arrived, but Jordan had been right – she would have died if he had waited. No one's fault but for the matter of circumstances. He heard the siren wailing up the street and stopping outside the house and, using what energy he could muster, he sat up and placated himself now by running his thumbs over her cheekbones instead.

"We're in here!" he called as soon as he heard them on the porch.

The front door was still wide open, and a man and woman came inside with medical supplies and a stretcher. "I, uh, I think she was stabbed," Woody said, refusing to move away when they came over and the woman – Walsh, her nametag read – leaned down to check her heart with a stethoscope.

"Did you do this?" the man, Doyle, asked when he saw the pen sticking out of her side and the bloodied scalpel tossed aside.

Woody wiped at his face with the back of his hand. "She's a doctor. She – she told me her lung was collapsing and w-what to do before she…" He couldn't say any more as the tears began anew.

Doyle looked at his partner, who gave him a brief nod. "We need to get her stabilized and transported."

"Are you family?" Walsh asked, gently pushing him away so the two EMTs could lift Jordan onto the stretcher.

Woody just nodded silently.

"Then come on, you can ride with us."

xXx

He heard her shoes clacking on the tiled hospital hallway as she ran toward him before he heard her call out his name, and Woody turned away from the window of Jordan's private room in the ICU to see Lily rushing toward him. Her eyes were red from crying, though by this point Woody felt oddly empty as he looked at her.

"Oh, Woody – oh, I'm so, so sorry!" she said sincerely in that way Lily had as she drew him into a tight embrace right there in the hall. "Everyone is trying to get away from work, and I came as soon as I could get Maddie to her sitter. Garret is on his way back from Italy, too. What did her doctor say? Is she going to be okay?"

He drew away from her and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling numb. Jordan had only been in surgery for two and a half hours, long enough to stop the internal bleeding, start a transfusion, stabilize her lungs, and find out her brain was swelling from blunt force trauma; whoever had done this had hit her in the head at some point, too. Her vitals had started to plummet then, though, and the surgeon didn't want to risk any more. They had her on a ventilator now, and they didn't know when she would regain consciousness.

That wasn't what Lily wanted to hear, and Woody shrugged. "Too soon to tell."

He had also sent a crime scene unit over to his home the second Jordan had been taken back where he couldn't follow, in the hopes they'd be able to find something useful. He'd called Santana, too, to tell her what was going on. This had to be related to something he was working on. It _had_ to. It couldn't have been random. But he also knew there was no way he'd be allowed to investigate it himself, and he wanted a detective he trusted to be aware of the case before anyone else so she'd be able to request it. He was going to fucking kill the bastard who did this, God help him if Jordan died.

Lily drew in a sharp breath, on the brink of tears again, and Woody snapped back to the moment. "It was nice of you to come, Lily, thank you."

She nodded and gave him a shaky but kind smile. "You're welcome. Can I do anything for you? Bring you clean clothes, maybe?"

He almost accepted, but then he remembered the bloody mess she would walk into if she went to his house and he shook his head. Still…he was covered in blood – _Jordan's_ blood – himself and, though he was trying hard not to think about it, the smell and memories were going to make him violently ill very soon. "You can give me a ride home."

"You…you're going to leave her? Here, alone?" Lily's voice wavered a bit, and she looked at him warily as though seeing him for the first time.

Woody sighed and leaned forward to brace his hands against the sill of the window, his head starting to hurt. "Just to get my car, since I rode in the ambulance. And some clothes, yeah. I'm going to come right back."

But then, before Lily had a chance to respond, he couldn't hold it back any longer. The only warning he had was a warmth at the back of his throat to tell him to turn away from her, and then he was vomiting all over the floor at his feet. All he could see was Jordan, bleeding out on the living room floor, her breath rasping out between her lips as she told him she loved him that last time.

"Help!" Lily called, kneeling beside him and tossing her purse aside so she could rub his back without interference. "We need some help here! Woody – it's okay."

Two nurses came rushing over and guided him to a bank of chairs against the opposite wall while another started to clean up. One of them gave him a plastic bucket and took his pulse. Lily followed them, concerned. "It's all right, Woody," she said softly, still rubbing his back. "Sometimes grief -"

"Jo's not dead!" he exploded at her, not able to keep the rage and panic under control. "She's right there! Right…right there."

"Grief and pain can express themselves in ways we don't expect," Lily continued, unperturbed by his outburst. "You're frightened, and honestly, I don't thinking leaving her here is going to help. I'm going to call Nigel and have him bring you your car and a change of clothes."

One of the nurses smiled and quietly interrupted, "We have some scrubs that will fit you, if you want to wear those until your own things get here."

Woody just nodded silently, feeling like he was in a nightmare he was unable to wake from.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone who has read so far, and especially to those who have reviewed!**

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_**Eden**_

**Chapter 2**

"I don't understand. What is this?" Santana held up the card Woody had received the day before, studying it in the sterile hospital lighting. She read the words, "_Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree",_ several times before turning the card this way and that, trying to find something – anything – that might stand out at a different angle.

"Dunno," Woody said listlessly, his voice bland and lifeless. He sat in a chair at Jordan's side, holding her limp hand in both of his up to his lips as the ventilator breathed for her. She hadn't regained consciousness yet.

He had remembered the card not long after the episode in the hospital hallway when he had been changing into the scrubs brought to him by the nurse and found it in his shirt pocket. He had stared at it blankly for a full fifteen minutes before shoving it into the deep pockets of his clean scrub top and pushing it from his mind. He'd known it was important – that whoever had sent it to him had done this to Jordan – but his mind had been completely unable to process that information. It wasn't until he had woken up that morning on the uncomfortable cot another nurse had brought into Jordan's room for him (along with a non-prescription sleep aid) that he remembered it again, and realized that he needed to give it to whoever was in charge of the case.

That person was Santana. She and Roz Framus had been assigned to the case. Even though it hadn't been a homicide, it had still happened to one of their own and their chief was able to pull enough strings to keep it within their department, for which he was grateful.

"It was sent to me yesterday afternoon," he continued automatically, his gaze never leaving Jordan's calm, unresponsive face. "There was a picture of her in the envelope – it's there on the table – and I went home and…found her."

"You don't know who sent it?" Santana asked gently, finding the photograph he had mentioned and picking it up to read the message on the back. _You must not forget that a monster is only a variation._

"No."

"Do you remember who brought it up to you?"

Woody thought for a moment, trying to pull up those memories from before finding Jordan that had gone fuzzy. "It was…Mark Flynn. Yeah."

The other detective slid the three pieces of evidence into a small bag and then put them into a folder to be filed when she returned to the precinct. Biting her lip, she stepped up behind his chair and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry. All of us are. Jordan means a lot to us, too. Is she gonna be okay?"

Woody swallowed around the lump in his throat and lowered his head, unable to answer her question when he didn't know himself. "Did you find anything at the house?"

"Oh." Santana blinked and opened her file again. "Um…no. There were no traceable fibers and all the blood was…oh. Hers. But, uh, that pan! The pan, in the hallway. Her prints were on it, right? She hit him with it. There were black cotton fibers on one of the bottom edges, so whoever was there was wearing…well, black cotton. If she got him in the head, that means he was wearing a mask. Nigel says he can match it if we find any more evidence." She paused, knowing he was listening even if it didn't seem like he was paying attention, and then added kindly, "Seely and Roz went by your place after CSU was done and cleaned everything up so you wouldn't have to deal with it."

He looked up at her then, the relief obvious and written all over his face that he wouldn't have to see his home in such a horrible state again. "Thank you."

"Woody." Now that she had his full focus, Luisa crouched beside his chair so she could look him in the eye. "Can you think of anyone – _anyone_ – who would want to do this? Any open cases where the perp might be trying to elude you, or a closed case with someone looking for revenge? Has anyone threatened you recently? Do you maybe recognize the words on the cards? Anything?"

These were questions he had been asking himself almost nonstop during the time he had been sitting there, but now all he could do was stare at her vacantly as the relief he had felt previously faded away. "If I had any ideas I would have told you already."

"I know." She touched his upper arm and sighed before getting to her feet again. "I just had to ask. Roz and I are gonna go through all of your current cases today to see if anything stands out, but let us know if you think of anything, okay? We'll do our best to keep you up to speed under the radar."

Woody nodded, his full attention back on Jordan as Santana left the room.

xXx

"You need to eat," Lily tutted that night as she unloaded a basket in Jordan's hospital room and set out a meal for three. "Nigel is on his way over, and we're going to stay here with you for a while."

"That's really not necessary," Woody protested, but it was a weak argument and all he could do was watch as she set out some kind of homemade vegetarian dish that smelled at least somewhat good, even if it wasn't what he or Jordan would have ordered out at dinner themselves.

"Of course it is," his friend retorted easily, doling out some couscous salad into a bowl and handing it to him with a spoon. "How's she doing?

He shrugged and pushed the food around with the utensil when he knew she wasn't looking. He wanted to pick up Jordan's hand again, but he couldn't while he was holding the bowl. "No change, really. They took her for another CT about two hours ago and the swelling in her brain is going down, so she could wake up any time. But…"

"That's great! That's really, really great." Lily smiled widely at him and served herself some food, too. "Jordan's a fighter; she always has been. She's not going to just give up."

"She hit the guy who attacked her in the head with a frying pan," Woody said suddenly. He had no idea why he said it, but saying it and really thinking about it – Jordan, as undomestic as they came using a frying pan as her weapon – now seemed quite hysterical. Of course, it probably meant that the attack started or ended in the kitchen and that was all she could reach…but his emotions weren't working correctly, and all he could see was the irony and humor in it.

"A…frying pan?"

"Yeah. The only cast-iron one we have. Well, _had_. It's been catalogued by CSU now."

He glanced up at Lily again and saw that she was grinning, too, and then they both started laughing, the stress of the last thirty-six hours becoming so overwhelming that they didn't know what else to do.

xXx

"There's nothing here," Roz Framus pointed out bluntly late that night as she slammed closed yet another file and pushed her curly hair out of her face. "Or, should I say, there's _too much_ here. For every case we set aside with no noted threats, we find three more with at least a dozen. We're not gonna find 'em this way."

Santana sighed and leaned back in her chair to stretch her arms out over her head. "We have to keep going. For all we know, this guy could try again. We have to find him before he does."

"Well, duh. I'm just sayin' - one of _these_ is going to be too obvious." She gestured over the large table filled with sorted files, the 'threat' pile far larger than the 'non-threat' pile and getting them nowhere. "Someone this conniving, who sends devious notes, tells the person to deliver them thirty minutes later, and times everything perfectly? He's not gonna just make an open threat that he knows'll be catalogued with this crap. We get those surveillance videos yet?"

"Danny's still putting them together," the younger woman replied warily.

"Mkay. I'm done with this bull," Roz said in annoyance, pushing the folders in front of her away and ignoring Santana's enraged utterances as the act disorganized their piles. "Let's try to find motive. That'll get us further than this ever will."

"Okay, fine. What's your take?"

The other detective shrugged and shimmied out of her suit jacket to reveal a low-cut shirt. "Could be someone trying to stall a case. With Woody not leaving Jordan's side, it's not like he can do his job. But did they want to leave her alive, or was their intention to kill? We can assume Jordan fought back, since we know her and that's what the evidence said. So, if they had wanted to kill her, it's obvious she foiled their carefully laid plan."

Luisa was quiet for a moment, listening, before she nodded. She didn't like thinking about this even if she needed to. "But what would be the point of killing her if their intention was to stall? His cases would be given to another officer during his bereavement period."

"Revenge, then," Framus said simply. It made the most sense and they both knew it.

Santana pursed her lips, her gaze going back out over the large table where they had spread all of Hoyt's cases. They'd have to go through all of them again with fresh eyes. That was not a pleasant thought. A timid knock on the open door of the conference room they'd been using brought their attention up, and they saw a young man there with a DVD in his hand. "I have the surveillance tapes you requested, Detective," he said, handing the case to Santana.

She took it with a small smile as he left and then turned to Roz. "Let's go boot up your computer; it's faster than mine."

xXx

It was well after midnight when Santana and Framus realized that they were going to need help with the surveillance DVD and, without hesitation, they had driven to the morgue. Nigel had been there, looking over the evidence found at Jordan's home for the thirteenth time with just as little success as the first, but he hadn't been able to leave.

"Hello, lovelies," he muttered dryly when he saw them. "No, I don't have any new information. No, I haven't heard from Woody. No, I'm not going by the hospital again tonight. No -"

"Shut up," Roz interrupted, shoving him away from the computer he was in front of and opening the CD-ROM drive so she could put in the DVD.

Santana touched his shoulder before he could start arguing with the other woman, and he looked at her in angry frustration. "We have something new for you," she told him calmly. "And we need your help getting as much as we can out of it. Please."

His defensive demeanor dropped immediately. "What is it?"

"Surveillance from the precinct the afternoon Woody got that note," Framus explained as the DVD began to hum and start up. "All Lu-Lu and I saw was a woman come in and hand something to the guy at the front desk. She looked confused, and kept glancing over her shoulder."

"Lu-Lu?" Nigel asked with a sly grin.

Luisa rolled her eyes, her fingers tapping the counter in annoyance. "Just do what you can, will you?"

"Certainly. Let's see..." He sat down on his stool again and sped the time on the video up to where it needed to be. This camera was placed behind the main desk, and it had a view of the front doors and main lobby. The station was incredibly busy that day, but there she was - a woman dressed in expensive clothes carrying a large purse came up to the desk and chatted for about fifteen seconds, handed the ivory envelope to Mark, looked over her shoulder a few times with an odd expression on her face even through the fuzzy pixilation, then left.

They watched a little more before Nigel backtracked so they could see it again. "That's it."

"What about outside?" Santana asked. "Maybe someone gave it to her on the street and told her to bring it inside."

The criminologist nodded silently and pulled up the view from another camera set outside facing the sidewalk and main entrance from the other side, then forwarded to a few minutes before they had seen the woman inside. "There she is," he murmured. "Doesn't look like she's waiting for anyone."

"No," Roz agreed. "Looks more like she's lost."

"The perfect target," the other detective whispered.

"Here!" Nigel pointed to the screen.

A young man had come up to her, touched her arm, leaned close. They talked for a moment. And then he handed her something - the envelope - gestured toward the building, and walked away. Just like that. None of the three people recognized him.

"You dusted that thing for prints, right?" Framus asked.

"Of course I did," Nigel spat irritably. "Woody's were on there, with that...that guy - Mark's. And one set we didn't have on file, must have been the lady's. Guy in the video here is wearing gloves. See?"

"Maybe she told Mark her name." Santana started tapping her fingers on the counter again, pleased with what they had found and wishing it weren't so late so they could start tracking down these leads now instead of at a decent hour.

Roz smacked her knuckles, smirking when she jerked her hand back and cradled it in surprise against her chest. "That bothers me. Stop. Anyway. We'll call to have a twenty-four hour guard set outside Jordan's room at the hospital, and then I guess we'll just have to grab Mark in the morning to continue from there. Thanks for your help, Nigel. Please send my regards to Buggles. C'mon, Lu-Lu, let's go look at mug shots 'til the sun comes up."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you, as always, to my readers and a special thanks to those who review. I promise, this is all happening for a reason!**

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**Eden**

**Chapter Three  
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"Are, uh, are you sure it's safe to take her off this...this machine?" Woody asked hesitantly, trying to hide his shaking as Jordan's doctor handed her chart to a nearby nurse.

Doctor Drake, the man who had performed the surgery on her two days prior, gave him a supportive smile. "Her body is trying its best to recover, and her lungs are trying to breath on their own at this point. It's time. She's going to be fine. My nurse and I are going to be right here the whole time, just in case."

Woody nodded, wanting so badly to believe him. It was just after seven o'clock in the morning, and though Lily had stayed as long as she had been allowed the night before he was alone now; no one to give him any advice. "Is she...is she going to wake up soon?"

"There's no way to tell," the doctor told him honestly. "The swelling in her brain has gone down and everything there is almost back to normal, but after a trauma like this it's like the body goes into survival mode. She'll come back when everything inside tells her to, even if us on the outside don't know when that will be." He touched Woody's shoulder as the nurse began to remove the tube from Jordan's throat. "Just keep sitting here and talk to her, giving her that connection. You're doing something medicine can't, and in the meantime we'll keep up our end of the care as well."

"C-could..." The question died in his throat, and he looked down, unable to watch as the nurse finished her task and cleaned up. But he had to know, and he gave his worst fear the words. "Could she still die?"

Drake let out a soft sigh before he answered, his gaze on his patient who was currently fighting for her life. "I'll be straight with you - any person in this hospital can have a turn for the worse. Though right now, with the progress she has made, things are looking good. That quick thinking you did at the scene probably made all the difference. I need to finish my rounds, but please do not hesitate to have someone call for me if you have any concerns."

"That was her," Woody cut in before the doctor could leave. "She told me what to do."

Drake smiled again, a sincere gesture that reached his eyes. "And you listened. A great team."

The nurse finished then as well and, telling Woody that he could find her at the nurse's station, she left the room. He was alone with Jordan. He sat back in the chair beside her bed and picked up her hand again. He hadn't slept since she had been brought in, despite the nearby cot; those measly four spurred by outright emotional exhaustion and a nurse insisting she take the pill she brought him hadn't counted, when he even remembered they had happened at all. This whole thing felt like a blur. He had just talked with her the morning before this happened. She'd taken that day off from work, but he couldn't recall why now. She never took time off work.

Oh. The party for Madeline that weekend. She was going to help Lily with the party preparation, whatever that meant.

The alarm had gone off, and she reached over to hit the snooze button for him but he had gotten up anyway. Said good morning, that he loved her just like he did every morning. Kissed her. Then he got out of bed to get ready for work while she kept sleeping. That had been different, since they usually got up together; one of them made coffee while the other showered. But she stayed in bed and then came downstairs to say goodbye, that she would see him that night. She had called once during the day and he hadn't been able to answer.

...She had stayed home. _Stayed home_, his sluggish, overwrought brain repeated. That was important.

And now here she was. What if that was the last time he saw her? Spoke to her? Heard her voice? Felt her touch? What if she never woke up? What if she died? What if the last thing he remembered her saying to him was to cut her open, or to not be afraid of seeing her die?

But she had stayed home that day.

"Why is that important, Jo?" he asked out loud, interlacing his fingers with hers and taking solace from the fact that they were warm, that her heart was still pumping blood through her body and not out onto their living room floor. "I can't think, sweetheart. I...can't think right now. I just want you back. Please. I don't want those to be my last memories of you."

She had stayed home. Said goodbye to him on the front porch, coffee in hand, smile on her face. The last time he had seen her before –

A quiet knock at the door startled him from his circular thinking, and he looked up in surprise to see Garret standing in the doorway with a duffle bag from his overseas flight slung over one shoulder. He had left for Italy with his daughter only two weeks ago, just to receive a call from Lily that there was an emergency and he needed to come back. The emergency scenarios he had envisioned all had to do with the morgue; nothing like this. "Hey there, Woody. How is she?"

"She's...she's..." The relief he felt, seeing the chief M.E. standing there, was indescribable, and he rubbed at his eyes before he could start crying again. It seemed he had cried enough the last forty-eight hours, even if Lily kept telling him it was understandable. "She's not waking up, Doctor M. She's not...waking up."

Garret came into the room, dropped his bag on the floor, and closed the door. "When was the last time you slept?"

The question sounded absurd to him and Woody just shook his head as an answer.

"That's what I thought. Get your ass over to that cot," he demanded, walking over to where the detective was sitting and taking his upper arm to lever him up. It took some doing, but the chief was able to get him to drop Jordan's hand. "I'll sit here, and I won't leave this room until you wake up, or I'll wake you myself if anything changes. Okay?"

Woody let himself be guided over to the small cot and nodded numbly. "Okay," he murmured as he leaned back and found the stiff pillow. He felt himself start to drift off almost immediately, oddly soothed by the beeps and hums of the machines around the woman at the center of his world. "Hey, Garret? Would you call Luisa and tell her Jordan was home that day? She was home, she wasn't at work. It's important, but I can't remember why..."

She hadn't gone to work. She...she _hadn't followed her routine_. That was the last thing he was aware of before darkness took him.

xXx

"Hey, Mark," Roz said early the next morning, plopping her huge purse and two full cups of coffee on the front counter before him. "You remember this lady?"

The young man looked up at her, surprised and nervous. He had always wanted to be a cop but hadn't yet applied to the academy, so having one of the detectives he admired standing there talking to him was a bit of a shock. Roz shook a video screenshot in front of him again and he stared at it for a good minute before glancing at her again with wide eyes. "I, uh...I don't..."

"She came in late in the afternoon two days ago and gave you something for Detective Hoyt. Ring any bells?"

"Oh. Oh!" Mark nodded enthusiastically and took the blurry picture so he could see it a little better. "Yeah. She came in and asked for directions to the art museum. Then she remembered that envelope for Detective Hoyt and asked me to give it to him in thirty minutes. I think she looked over her shoulder a few times, but she didn't see anyone that caught her attention."

Roz nodded and made a mental note of that. "An art museum? You mean the MFA on Huntington Avenue?"

"Yeah. Or at least, that's the one I gave her directions to." Before she could leave, Mark rushed to ask, "Hey, is Detective Hoyt's girlfriend gonna be okay? She's always real nice when she comes in here. Did, uh, did that lady have anything to do with what happened to her?"

She sighed softly and took the photograph back to slide into the inside pocket of her jacket. She was incredibly worried about the other woman, too, but somehow _she hasn't come to ye__t_ probably wouldn't go over well. "I haven't heard from Woody since yesterday, so I don't know any more about Jordan than the rest of the precinct. And you know I can't discuss an open case. But thank you, Mark. You've been very helpful." She gave him a placating smile and turned away with her purse to catch an elevator up to her floor, where Santana was likely passed out on the couch in Hoyt's office. They'd been making use of the vacated space, but they didn't think he'd mind.

They had looked through at least a few hundred mug shots during the night, hoping to find the man who had given their mystery woman the envelope. Nothing had come of it, save a pounding headache for Roz and an irritable mood for Luisa. The second person was still a complete enigma - as was the first, even if they had a new direction to search now.

"Wake up!" Framus shouted loudly, kicking at Santana's legs where they were hanging over the arm of the ratty leather sofa. "C'mon, Lu-Lu, we've got ourselves a new lead."

Luisa just groaned and threw her arm over her face in annoyance. "I jus' fell asleep!"

"Yeah, two hours ago. Plenty of time. Did I mention I have coffee?" She waved one of the cups in front of her partner's face as a bribe. "And a _lead_? Get up."

Yawning, she sat up and snatched the coffee from her hand, biting back a sneer of disgust when she took a gulp and found it was black. "What's this lead?" she asked, opening the top drawer of Woody's desk and pulling out two of the sweeteners she knew would be there. He had some dry flavored creamer, too, and she helped herself.

"The lady off the surveillance tape went to the MFA yesterday afternoon," Roz said smugly. "That's where Mark sent her. She _was _asking for directions."

"Hmm," Santana mused, sipping her corrected coffee and leaning against the desk they had commandeered. "So she really might not have any connection to that man on the street, then."

"But we still need to find her."

xXx

As it turned out, the woman - Allison Gafford - used her credit card to buy two tickets to the Museum of Fine Arts and the detectives were able to get her address, which they were now parked in the driveway of. The late afternoon sun shone on the front of the house as they got out of the car and walked up to the front door, badges ready.

"Still no news from Woody?" Framus asked. She knew Santana was closer to the other cop, but that didn't mean she cared any less about him or about Jordan.

Santana shook her head, raising her hand to knock sharply on the door. "Lily called, though. Said he kicked everyone out last night. Probably couldn't take the coddling any more."

"Or he just wants to be alone with Jordan. Oh, I also got a call. From Garret. Woody said that Jordan wasn't following her usual routine the day of the attack; whoever did it must have been watching her."

There was no time to respond, though, before the very woman they had seen in the video opened the door and smiled suspiciously at them, likely thinking they were there to sell something. "Can I help you?"

"Boston police," Roz said, holding up her badge. "Did you go by the precinct downtown on Tuesday?"

Mrs. Gafford frowned in confusion, opening the door a little more so she could better answer. "I did. Is something wrong?"

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"What...happened?" the woman repeated, glancing behind her to find her husband and then looking back at the detectives on her porch. "Nothing happened. I just needed directions."

"You gave something to the man at the desk," Santana prompted, losing her patience.

"Oh, you're right. There was someone outside. When he saw I was going into the station, he stopped me and asked me to bring an envelope inside."

"That's it?"

The woman paused, thinking back to the encounter. "He asked me to tell whoever was at the desk to wait thirty minutes before delivering it. I thought that was odd, but he wouldn't tell me why. I also noticed he was wearing gloves, which I found strange given the heat. But I'd forgotten all about it, to be honest."

"Do you remember anything about this man?" Roz asked. "Did he give you his name, or any kind of identifying information?"

She fell silent again before shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gafford," Santana said, reaching into her jacket pocket for a business card. "If you think of anything else, please call."

"I know he kicked Lily out," Framus began as they got in the car and buckled their seat belts, "but what d'ya say we go see Woody and get him up to speed? For all our chief knows, we're still trackin' down Gifford or Gafford or whatever her name is."

"I like this plan. And I _really_ want to know how Jordan is doing."

xXx

The sound of a flatline and then someone - Garret - roughly shaking him roused Woody from his slumber what felt like just a few seconds after he had dozed off though a quick glance outside to see that it was nearly dark made it obvious he had been asleep all day. But then reality came crashing down around him when he realized that the flatline wasn't in his dream. Jordan's heart had stopped, and Garret had woken him up just as two nurses and Doctor Drake came running into the room and lowered the top of the bed.

"Status," the doctor requested sharply. A nurse responded with medical jargon the detective didn't understand and they immediately got to work.

Woody tried to rush to her side, but Garret held him back with an arm across his chest. "You'll only get in the way," he hissed.

"W-what happened?" Woody moaned, sagging against his friend in horror as he watched, unable to look away and not sure he would if he could. "Oh, God. Jo...I shouldn't...I shouldn't have gone to sleep. Jordan, I..."

Suddenly the monitor jumped with a pulse again, and it was all Garret could do to keep Woody from falling to the floor. She was back. She was alive. They had put an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, but she was still breathing on her own. Garret released him, and he went to her side to take her hand, running his other over her forehead and into her hair.

Doctor Drake stepped forward and checked her heart, then her lungs with his stethoscope, conscious not to move the man kneeling by the bed. "I want to take her back into surgery again," he broached carefully. "I think there may still be some internal bleeding around the wound to her lung. You're her next of kin, Detective. It's your call."

Woody looked up at him in a panic, then back at Garret. "I...I don't..."

"Do it, Woody," Garret directed softly. "Her body can't compensate. She could die next time her heart stops unless they fix the cause."

"But last time she crashed on the table," the cop pointed out fearfully, clutching her hand as though hoping she would wake up and tell him what to do. "And when she had her brain surgery, too. What are her chances?"

"Better with the surgery than without," Drake said. "If there is bleeding around that wound, it won't stop on its own. We won't push her beyond what she can take, but we need your answer now."

Stricken, Woody nodded once. That was all it took. Jordan was lifted onto a rolling gurney and rushed from the room, and the last thing he heard was the doctor asking that his operating room be prepped immediately as she was whisked away from him. He hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye, just in case. He felt bereft.

"This won't take long," Garret tried to explain. "They just need to find where the problem is and fix it. Come on, Woody, let's go sit out in the waiting room. I'll call everyone to let them know what's going on and have someone bring you some food."

He didn't respond.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to everyone who has read so far, and especially to those who have reviewed!**

* * *

_**Eden **_

**Chapter 4**

The waiting room was crowded with people two hours later. Lily had brought Bug after leaving their daughter with a sitter, Nigel had rushed from work, and Roz and Santata had just arrived and were trying to comprehend what had happened when Woody wouldn't speak to anyone.

Santana took an empty seat next to her friend and swallowed, looking toward Roz as she came to stand nearby. "I'm so sorry, Woody," she whispered, reaching out to take his limp hand in hers. "I'm sure Jordan's gonna be fine. She's the strongest lady I know."

"Have you found anything?"

It was the first thing he'd said since she had been taken into surgery, and Garret immediately walked over, concerned when he heard the question. Roz cleared her throat. "Um, not yet. Or at least not enough. We've tracked down the woman who gave Mark the letter he gave to you, but she's not directly involved. That's all we've found."

"There was nothing in your home," Santana added. "And only your prints, Mark's, and the woman's were on the paper."

"Jo…Jo didn't work yesterday. Her routine wasn't the same," Woody said hoarsely.

Framus nodded. "Yeah, Garret called us. That was important information, thank you for letting us know." The two detectives glanced at each other, realizing he wasn't really taking any of this in – or even really paying attention to them. Roz sat down in a vacant chair on the other side of Luisa. They had come to share what little information they had, but now that they knew what was going on here neither of them wanted to leave.

Lily came to join the small group clustered around him, wringing her hands. "They've been back there for a while. Haven't they?"

"I'm sure everything is fine," Garret said quietly, touching her hands and guiding her to the seat beside Roz. "They would have told us if anything had gone wrong. Look, there are a lot of us here; why don't some of you go on home?" The rest of the people looked over at him like he had grown a third head. "Okay, fine, don't leave, but at least stop hovering."

The questions and chatter died down to leave silence, and it was another thirty minutes before Jordan's doctor came to find them in the waiting room. He was wearing scrubs, but he had removed his surgeon's gown and was smiling widely. Woody was on his feet immediately, ready to meet him before he could make it halfway across the room.

"She's fine," Drake answered the question that didn't need to be asked. "We're getting her ready to be moved back to her room right now. She did great, and actually -" He paused, reaching into his scrub top pocket for a small cylindrical container. There was a tiny bit of metal inside. "I know you're a detective and I'm sure a case has been opened about this, so… This is what caused the bleeding to continue. I think it's the tip of the knife used in the attack."

Woody reached out and gently took the container, the rest of the room falling away from around him as he looked at it – a piece of the weapon that almost took away the woman who meant more to him than anything in the world. Fury began to build in his stomach, nauseating in its intensity. He jumped when someone touched his shoulder, and nearly protested when Nigel slowly urged him to release the knife tip into his possession.

"I'll go analyze it," the other man said softly. "Please, let go." Almost reluctantly, Woody's fingers loosened so Nigel could slip the container into a pocket. "This will help us find the bastard."

"Doctor Cavanaugh will be returned to her room in just a few minutes, though I'm afraid only Detective Hoyt will be allowed in to see her." Drake braced the cop's arm supportively before turning and walking back through the double doors leading to the depths of the hospital.

xXx

It was well after four in the morning. Woody knew without having to look at the clock behind him; he could just feel it. He hadn't slept again since Jordan had been brought back from surgery the evening before, terrified that if he left her longer than it took to make use of the bathroom attached to her room to at least continue feeling human that something else would happen and she wouldn't come back this time. All he could do was stare at her face, or watch her chest rise and fall with her continued breathing.

Garret had been kind enough to check in on their house, and except him, the entire morgue staff, and Santana and Framus continually coming by or calling...Woody was alone. If you could count that as being alone. Lily had practically moved in that first twenty-four hours and, though he appreciated everything she had done for him, it was getting hard to take.

"I don't know how you do it, Jo," he whispered, bringing their clasped hands up to his lips. "Deal with such energetic people day in and day out. Nigel and Lily."

He could almost hear her sarcastic – or maybe loving – quip, but of course she was silent. "I miss you." He kissed her fingers, then grinned. "Silly, right? You're here, next to me, but I still miss you so much. You may as well be on another planet."

He fell silent then, unable to keep talking when he knew she couldn't respond. He'd heard the stories people told, about those who were unconscious being able to hear when someone was talking to them, but he didn't know what else to say. He had stopped begging her to wake up a while ago and she already knew how much he loved her. What else was there _to_ say? So he mostly kept watch over her, never releasing her hand unless he was touching her face or her hair or adjusting a pillow.

The agony he had felt this whole time had never faded, numbness to the outside world or no. It was always there.

"I love you," he said quietly. "I know you know that, but...I do."

More silence, filled with beeps and hisses from the equipment.

But then, suddenly, there was a twitch in her fingers. So slight he thought he had imagined it, but there - again! Her index finger had definitely just moved, then her pinky. His eyes flashed to her face, but it remained unchanged.

"Jordan. Jo, sweetheart." He stood quickly from the chair and leaned with his elbows against the bed, close beside her as one hand ran over her hair and the other still tightly grasped hers. "Jordan. Come on. Come back now, Jo." All he could do was watch, not even realizing he wasn't breathing, when her eyes moved under her lids and her fingers twitched again.

It vaguely occurred to him to call for a nurse or someone, but he couldn't. He couldn't move, not even to press the call button. "Jordan..."

Finally – _finally_ – her eyes fluttered open, catching a point somewhere far off before turning to settle blearily on his face. She blinked a few times as her breath quickened, becoming aware of the pain and quickly attempting to accommodate. Woody ran a comforting hand over her forehead and into her hair, unable to hide the wide smile pulling back his lips. "Welcome back."

She winced briefly, looking at the machines on the other side of her bed as her brain calculated her vitals, the medications in the IV, and the amount of fluids she was on before she glanced at him again and cracked him a small, Jordan-like grin he had missed so much. "You look like shit," she wheezed.

"Yeah, well - " He couldn't finish, too overcome with emotion. Instead he let himself fall down against her chest, tears of relief pouring over his cheeks. She didn't have the energy to lift an arm to rub his back, so she moved her head to nuzzle it gently against his. That just made him cry harder, but a choked laugh came out, too. Days of slowly going insane; he must have finally broken. She was awake. She really was awake, right? He wasn't dreaming, or having an exhausted hallucination?

"I'm in the ICU. What happened?" she asked hoarsely, forcing her words out through a tight throat.

Woody sat back, grounding himself into to the moment and finding some water for her. She took it shakily and sipped at it for a long few seconds, not noticing the silence that had fallen while he just looked at her, still trying to convince himself this was real. Needing one more bit of evidence to file away, he leaned forward again and kissed her gently on the mouth, then her cheek. Finally satisfied she wasn't a hallucination when she raised an eyebrow (though he could see a faint glimmer of love in her foggy eyes as they slowly found more focus), he brushed some hair from her face and helped her lie down again when she was done drinking.

"I need to get a nurse," he said, purposefully becoming distracted and not wanting to answer her question.

Jordan just hit the call button on the side of her bed, her fuzzy mind beginning to recognize what he was doing. "Problem solved."

It was another distraction for a few minutes as a cheerful nurse named Caren came into her room and, elated to find her awake, took her blood pressure, checked her heart and listened to her lungs with her stethoscope, and adjusted her IV. Jordan demanded to look at her file, which Caren hesitantly obliged to when she identified herself as a doctor, and she was able to get cursory information on her two surgeries and the injuries she had been admitted with - all without Woody having to open his mouth. A small filtering of memories began to come back, and she closed her eyes and handed the file back to Caren to slip into the sling at the foot of her bed. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I'm sure Doctor Drake is going to come by and see you first thing when he gets here at six." Caren patted Jordan's hand before she walked back to the door. "We've all been worried about you both. Maybe you can get this oaf to at least take a nap?"

As the nurse left and closed the door, Jordan opened her eyes again and looked at Woody, who was slouched in the chair he had hardly left for the last three days. "You haven't slept, have you?" she asked quietly, reaching out a weak hand to squeeze his.

He shrugged. "I...did. And I wish I hadn't." When she gazed at him in confusion, wordlessly asking for an explanation, he dropped his eyes and stared at her knuckles. "The first night, when you were brought in. For a few hours. I just...I got sick. A nurse sedated me. And then the other day Garret was here, said he'd wake me if something happened. I passed out most of the day and then...you were dead. I fell asleep and you died without me there."

"Hey, Farm Boy, look at me."

He did, suddenly quite unable to look away from that whiskey gaze he had loved for so long.

"I wasn't gonna leave without a fight." She gave him a tired grin and added, "And I'm not goin' anywhere now. I'd let you in here with me but jostling these stitches probably isn't the best idea. Pull that cot over here, would ya?" Grudgingly and grumbling the whole time, Woody released her hand and pulled the light metal-famed cot closer to her bed. "Good. Now take off your shoes and lie your tired ass down." As soon as he had, she reached her hand out again. Even though the cot was significantly lower than the hospital bed, there was little enough space between the two now and they could twine their fingers together easily.

"See?" she murmured, turning her head slightly to see him better as her eyelids started to get immensely heavy. "I'm gonna fall off again in a few minutes. Please, tell me what you know."

Woody sighed, a deep, weighted breath that spoke volumes before rolling to his side and resting his head in the crook of his bent elbow, trying to get comfortable. "How much do you remember?" he asked softly, staring at her intently.

"Bits and pieces. Shopping with Lily, seeing Maddie. Getting a phone call at home around...lunchtime, and then calling you." She paused, her eyebrows scrunching as she tried to recall more details that didn't want to come. If she were honest, she wasn't quite ready to remember them all herself. "You didn't answer -" He squeezed her hand, but she continued without comment or condemnation, "- and then...later in the day. Someone was on the porch. Knocked, but...forced his way in. Two people. Masks. I, uh...I tried to run upstairs for my gun, but they cornered me. In the kitchen. And then you were there. That's it."

"You beat off two of them?" Woody mused in awe, the situation taking on a new horror in his mind as he forced the images playing out in his mind to go away. "Damn, girl."

"Almost didn't make it," she reminded him grimly.

"But you did. And you forced me to...God, I'm not even sure what you made me do, but it worked." He kissed her fingertips, feeling the tension around his heart easing just a bit when she smiled wanly at him from her bed. "Santana and Framus checked other local hospitals to see if anyone was admitted with injuries you may have caused - no luck - but I have no doubt you did some lasting damage."

"A cast iron pan swung with enough force can cause a concussion, at the very least. Glad I finally got some use outta the thing." They both chuckled lightly at that, relieved for the humor in such a dark situation before she changed the subject with a question that had been gnawing at her for a few minutes. "You had to be sedated the first night? Why?"

"I told you," he said uncomfortably, "I got sick."

"You mean you went off the deep end." Her voice was getting faint again, but she was still alert enough to see through his half-truth. That was enough of an answer, though. "Luisa and Roz - have they found anything?"

Woody frowned, glad then that she had closed her eyes. He knew she hadn't fallen asleep yet and was still listening, but he didn't want her to see the anger that had come across his face. "No. They've found the woman who handed Mark - you know, the guy down in the lobby at the precinct - that card, and they hit a wall. I'll call them with what you remember later."

"...Card?" she prompted drowsily, definitely starting to drift off.

"Yeah, right before...um, right before I left to come home, I got this weird card. More like a postcard, not the folded kind. One sentence was written on it – 'monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree'. There was...that's all there was." Telling her about the photograph, that someone had been watching her, seemed wrong and out of place right now somehow. He couldn't do it. But whether or not she saw through that one, she didn't let on. "That's how I knew to come home."

"Hmm," was the only acknowledgement he received. And then she stirred slightly, her brain attempting to sort through this information and find the right files to make sense of it. "Wait. Wait, what did it say?"

"Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree." He was never going to forget those words.

"Was there anything else?"

Hesitating, and leaving out the part about the picture, he added the second line that had been included. She nodded slowly, exhaustion starting to win out and pull her away. "Right." Just before she fell back into a much-needed healing sleep, she whispered, "_East of Eden_. One of my favorite books."


	5. Chapter 5

**As always, thank you to everyone who has been reading so far - and especially to those who have taken the time to review. I really do appreciate all of you!**

* * *

_**Eden**_

**Chapter 5**

It was another week before Jordan was able to convince her doctor to let her leave. By that point, her lungs had strengthened considerably, and she used her medical background to her advantage by assuring him she would stay completely aware of what her body was telling her, and that she wouldn't push herself. Stay in bed, stay out of the work rotation for at least a month (Garret had wanted it to be two but she'd had a cow so they compromised), and not exert any more energy than it took to take a very short shower every day – and no sex until she was fully recovered, which she had expected.

But if that's what she had to agree to in order to get out of this sterile and boring hospital, Jordan would agree to it.

In the car with Woody, though, gazing listlessly out the passenger-side window as he drove her home she was starting to feel a knot in her stomach. It wasn't that she didn't want to go home, because she did. It was more that she hadn't thought about what exactly she was returning to: The scene of the crime. The place she had almost died.

That in itself wasn't a harrowing ideal. She had almost died more than a handful of times. It was the circumstances around this one in particular that were making it difficult. Her heart began to pound as they pulled into the driveway. Woody got his bag out of the back seat and quickly ran around the Chevelle to open her door before she even got her seatbelt unbuckled, and helped her carefully out of the car. She felt her stitches tug, but nothing more painful than that. Together they walked up to the porch so Woody could unlock the door.

Unbidden, memories she thought she had crushed down came rushing back. Not recent memories, but old memories. Her father, police, crime scene tape, running into the house, and her mother. _All the blood, the body on the floor. _Her_ blood, here on this floor – but it was the other floor, not her blood, HER blood – _

Feeling the air leave her body as though she'd been punched, Jordan slouched forward and grabbed at the doorframe to keep from falling, suddenly unable to make it over the threshold of her own home, too lost in the past to see the present.

"Jordan?" Woody was at her side in an instant, worried and confused. "Are you okay? Do you hurt?"

She pushed his concerned hands away with more venom than she had intended as the _now_ came back and hit her in the face. "Fine," she said shortly. "I'm fine. I just...I want to go upstairs and get in bed." The lie flowed as easily as it always had, when it came to her mother and the spiraling insanity those thoughts brought with them, but the guilt she felt immediately afterward was new.

Woody noticed the change in her behavior as soon as she snapped, but he didn't push. "Okay. C'mon, let's go inside. It's hot out here."

Seely and Roz had done a good job with the cleaning, and they were both thankful; everything looked as it had in the days before the attack, just as they had left it all themselves. No blood on the floor, though the rug that had been in the living room was gone now, along with some of the broken furniture and accessories. Jordan didn't comment, instead horribly glad Woody didn't say anything else as he helped her down the hall and up the stairs.

It had been a very long time since she had thought about her mother that way, and even longer since it had sent her over the edge in a way that it had taken someone else to bring her back. She didn't want to go there. _Please_, she begged to herself, or perhaps to the ghosts still lingering in the dark corners of her mind. _Please_._ I was happy. I_ am _happy. Don't come back_.

"Here," Woody whispered, suddenly breaking her out of her tumbling thoughts when they reached the bedroom. "Lie back and let me get off your shoes. What do you wanna wear?"

Jordan watched him for a moment, forcing her face to soften even though he would no longer meet her eyes. He was confused by her outburst and trying to sort through it, even if he didn't know what caused her to suddenly be so volatile. He had been through a lot to test him the last few weeks, she knew, and having her act so odd right when he figured things were okay again was not helping matters. "Thank you," she said kindly, letting him help her because that's just what he needed to do. "Um, a tank top is fine. No, wait – one of your old shirts would be better. Won't rub the stitches as much," she added with a small smile.

He brought her the shirt he knew was her favorite to sleep in, and she undressed before slipping it on carefully over her head. His face was blank, though - obviously still hurt by her short temper before – and she beckoned to have him come sit beside her. "I'm sorry, Farm Boy," she murmured, cupping his face in her hands and running her thumbs across his stubbly cheeks and grounding herself into the moment. He stared at her forlornly. "I just...I dunno. But I _am _sorry. I didn't mean to take my temper out on you."

Woody brushed her hands away and she felt a sting of fear before he quickly pulled her into a tight embrace, his face dropping down to hide against her neck. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Jordan could feel him trembling, and she squeezed her eyes closed, bringing her arms up to hold him close against her and ignoring the tug on the incision points. "Why don't you change out of these hospital clothes and stay in bed with me for a while?" she suggested.

Woody nodded, and she couldn't help the surge of relief she felt when he stripped off most of his clothing and lied down beside her, taking her into his arms again as they got comfortable. She wouldn't have to be alone with her thoughts and vicious memories as they came clawing back into her mind. At least not right now.

xXx

She tried. She tried _so hard_. The first day went by all right. Woody stayed home from work and they didn't get out of bed. She wasn't _alone_. But his captain requested that he come in to the station at least three days a week, allowing him to work from home the other two days until Jordan was able to return to work herself under the condition that he be available for calls to crime scenes, should the need arise.

While he was there, the first day, she was able to keep the memories and everything they brought with them at bay. He was able to distract her, even while not being aware that's what he was doing.

Jordan couldn't tell him.

He was so happy to have her home, and she wasn't able to burst his content little bubble. Destroy his perfectly reconstructed world, was more like it. He thought she was fine now. And so she pretended to be. For the next two days, the lies fell off her tongue easier and easier…and pushed them further and further apart from one another. She knew he noticed something was wrong with her and getting worse, but she also knew that he had no idea what to do about it – especially if she didn't tell him what was wrong. And yet, he didn't ask. Perhaps he was afraid of the answer.

All the while, she was quickly withdrawing as an intense, draining depression came to swallow her, her mother's memory everywhere she turned spurring it on harder and harder. She didn't even have the distraction of work or the morgue to throw herself into this time.

"Hey, Jo?" Woody called up the stairs on the third morning as he tried to pull on a shoe one-handed. "I've gotta run. Need to go into work. I should only be gone for a few hours, though. Want me to bring anything home for you?" When she didn't say anything, he stopped jumping around and craned his neck in an attempt to look down the hallway at the top of the landing, into the dark bedroom. "Jordan?"

She listened to him, rolled to her side in bed and trying to find the energy to respond. "No," she finally said. "But thanks."

And then he left, the front door thudding closed behind him as he went to join Santana and Framus so they could tell him no more progress had been made in her attack. They had hit a wall. No evidence was forthcoming, and the case had stalled. There was a very good chance it would be pushed to the side in another week or so, cold, to make room for others that needed more attention.

Just like what happened with her mother.

Questions left unanswered, when those answers would give her the peace she so desperately needed.

Jordan squeezed her eyes closed, feeling chilled down to the bone and more alone than she had in years. But this was her problem. These were her memories to sort through and deal with. They always had been. Woody knew how they impacted her, and she had given him a little insight over the years to how she responded emotionally to things when her mother was involved. Hell, he had saved her from the brink of self-destruction more than once because of, as she called it, going cuckoo over her mother. But at this point…he was already having a hard time dealing with his own emotional reaction to her attack. She couldn't justify dumping this on him, too. Not when it would only make things harder for him.

And so she would do the best she could on her own until she just couldn't any longer.

xXx

A few nights later, Woody woke in a disoriented haze, not sure what was going on or why he had come to. He rubbed a hand over his eyes as his vision focused in the dark, moonlight just enough to see by. Jordan was on her back beside him, having rolled out of his grasp at some point in the hours they had been asleep. That was odd; she rarely moved away from him once they got comfortable, and he turned his head to look at her through the shadows. Her face was angled away, though, and he couldn't really see her.

Just as he was about to drift off again, though, she jerked. Only her leg, kicking quickly against his in her sleep. His eyes flashed open again, surprised. That must have been what woke him before; she was dreaming. She jerked once more, and this time most of her body thrashed, tensing against some unseen horror. The blanket twisted around her torso as she rolled away, a pained moan catching in her throat as she curled into a fetal position on her other side. This wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.

Woody sat up, reaching out to her and hesitating. He had never seen her like this before. In all the years he had known her, all the years they had been friends and the years they had been more, he had never seen her so vulnerable and scared, and it left a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew she _used_ to get nightmares, but he had never realized –

Suddenly she let loose a terrified scream, guttural and hoarse through her plagued sleep. It broke off and another took its place.

Not hesitating any more, Woody touched her shoulder and attempted to bring her back. "Jordan," he called softly. When he didn't receive a response, he shook her and tried louder. "Jordan. Jo!"

"No!" Her eyes opened, but she lashed out at him, shoving his hands away as she looked around wildly and scooted back to the headboard. "No, don't touch me! Don't...don't..." She was covered in sweat, though that didn't hide the tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. "Where am...what…Woody?"

All he could do was stare at her, frightened by the reaction she had had upon waking. She hadn't known where she was, even though she had been sleeping in this room for months. She hadn't even recognized _him _at first. He knew – he _knew _– it wasn't something she had done on purpose, or _could _do on purpose for that matter, but he couldn't help but feel stung. He would never hurt her; he would sooner die.

The silence grew awkward quickly, and Jordan sank back down into the bed to pull the blankets right again. "Thanks, um, for waking me." She rolled away from him them, recognizing his discomfort and not knowing how to fix it when she didn't understand what had caused it. The gap that had opened between them over the last week was larger than either had realized.

Letting out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, Woody settled back into bed, too, and spooned behind her, unsure whether or not to ask what she had been dreaming about. He was confident it had been about her attack, but he was more unsure of whether she wanted to talk about it. As he nestled his face against her neck, though, his arm felt a small hitch in her stomach – like when someone was trying to hide the fact that they were crying.

He sat up a little and moved his hand from where it had rested against her abdomen to run it over her hair. "Jordan, are you okay?"

She was silent for a long moment before answering. "I, uh...I don't think I should go back to sleep." And then the floodgates were open, and she was sobbing openly in his arms.

This was a kind of weakness he had only seen a small handful of times, and it had always ended with her running away – sometimes across the country, sometimes to places inside herself that he couldn't follow, and he recognized then that this – her imminent flee – had been building since she had returned from the hospital. His stomach twisted. "Shh," he soothed, anxious now as he searched desperately for something to say before she could run or retreat. "Why shouldn't you go to sleep? Because of your nightmares?"

"She's there," Jordan muttered, but whether she was answering the question or not he couldn't tell. Either way, she definitely wasn't talking directly to him. She shuddered and turned her face into the pillow, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips even as Woody held her tighter. "My mom. Every time I close my eyes."

Her response shocked him and he suddenly felt like a fool, remembering the circumstances surrounding her mother's death and how horribly similar the situation she had just survived was. He thought back quickly over the last few days, racking his brain to the very first time she had begun to act oddly and wondering how in hell he hadn't put two and two together. _This was bad._ "Oh, God, Jo -"

"Everyone has always told me I'm not her," she continued as though she hadn't heard him, "but I was almost murdered in my own home, just like her, despite our...our different lives. And now I'm losing myself again. Going crazy, _just like her_."

"You're not her, Jordan. You're not her. You're not her, okay?" Woody sat up, worried when she wouldn't look at him - facing the wall as she was - and gently took her exposed upper arm to roll her onto her back again. All she did was stare in the vague direction of the ceiling, lost and frightened and not allowing herself to open up to him the way she had been able to before. "You are not your mother. What happened to her is not what happened to you, and her fate is not yours."

She didn't reply, and she wasn't crying any more. Now only a few stray tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she blinked slowly in the darkness. But try as he might, Woody couldn't get her to look at him. He touched her face, lightly running his fingers along her jaw, a motion he knew she used to get pleasure out of. It received no reaction. "Jordan. Hey…"

"Go back to sleep, Woody," she said, her voice flat and so completely devoid of emotion it was as though the last few minutes hadn't happened at all. "I'll be fine in the morning."

She stayed on her back, so Woody wrapped an arm over her waist, careful of her stitches but still able to tuck his hand around her other side, and rested his head near hers on the pillow. He desperately hoped the gesture showed how much he loved her when his words were falling on ears that wouldn't hear them, and that it would be enough.

And as Woody fell into a troubled sleep of his own, Jordan came to a decision.


	6. Chapter 6

**As always, thank you to everyone who has read and especially to those who have reviewed. I appreciate every single one of you.**

* * *

_**Eden**_

**Chapter 6**

When Woody woke up the next morning, bright sunshine streaming across his face, Jordan was gone. He rolled over, running his hand across her usual spot beside him, assuming she had gotten up to shower or make coffee...to find it cold. He sat up as though he'd been shocked, all residual sleep vanishing. He couldn't hear anything in the house - no running water, no moving dishes or opening doors, nothing.

"Jordan?" he called, his heart starting to thud wildly in his chest. He was met with the silence that only came when you were completely alone.

"Oh, God," he moaned, jumping out of bed and finding a pair of jeans off the floor. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Jordan! Please be outside. Jo!" he called again as he ran down the stairs so quickly he almost tripped on the carpet runner. The coffee pot was empty, and she wasn't in the kitchen or the living room. She wasn't on the porch or in the back yard. But, as he was about the check the small "study" they had set up, he noticed through a window that her car wasn't in the driveway and his stomach dropped from under him. It quickly came back, and he was lucky he hadn't had breakfast yet or it would have ended up on the floor.

She had left. She had run. She was _gone_. She must not have fallen back to sleep the night before, and had left after he had. What if she wasn't coming back?

He turned toward the kitchen, reliving every experience he'd had of Jordan running. She could completely vanish when she wanted to. Finding her that first time, when she had run to California, had been almost impossible. Still, finding her would be half the battle; he'd need to convince her to come home again, help her through whatever dark place she was in. But this time she was still recovering from her attack, and from two surgeries. She was in no shape for this!

And how could she hurt him this way? Because she had to know what it would do to him. Only five minutes and he already felt like he was being torn into a million pieces. But was that selfish of him, to think like this, when she was the one who was so traumatized she'd felt her last option left was to run?

He wandered into the kitchen, feeling lost and needing to do something. The movement made him dizzy, though, and he leaned forward to brace his open palms against the granite coutertops. He blinked in surprise when his fingers came in contact with a piece of paper and, recognizing Jordan's handwriting and fearing the worst, he picked it up.

_Be back later. I love you._

That was all it said. Woody sagged in relief, lowering his head and squeezing his eyes closed against a wave of tears.

But he needed to find her. He had no idea how long she had been gone. What if she wasn't feeling well? What if up and running off like this hurt her stitches, or pushed her body too far? She wasn't supposed to be driving. Hell, she wasn't even supposed to be out of bed for more than an hour or two a day.

"I am so _stupid_!" Woody yelled at himself, clenching his fists and the paper inside one of them. The urge to punch a hole through the hallway wall was strong enough to be overwhelming but he resisted. Barely. "Damn it, how could I not have seen this coming?!"

He knew she had been taking this hard, but he had assumed it had just been because of the emotional recoil of being attacked. Of being made to feel like a victim. But he hadn't made the connection to her being attacked in her own home, bleeding out and almost dying in her living room, to her mother being murdered in such a similar way. He felt like a jackass. Why hadn't he pushed harder the second he saw her withdrawing, or sensed that chasm opening between them?

He needed to find her. Right now.

xXx

Woody tore through the parking garage at the morgue, looking frantically for her car. It wasn't in her usual spot, and he drove around in wider and wider circles until he finally found it, parked in a back, shadowy corner far away from the entrance, elevator, and stairs. She wasn't inside. Neither was her purse.

Trying to quell the panic rising again in his chest, Woody drove back to the main parking area for morgue staff and parked in her assigned spot before forgoing the slow elevator and dashing up the many flights of stairs to the morgue proper.

She wasn't in her office. None of the lights were on, and the blinds were pulled down. No files were on her desk and the chair was pushed in. The blanket was folded neatly and draped over the top of the couch, the pillows undisturbed. She hadn't been here. Where the hell was she?

"Garret!" Woody called, turning away from Jordan's empty office for her boss's instead. "Doctor M., have you seen Jordan?"

Garret looked up from the paperwork he was filling out, startled at the anxiety in the detective's voice and just as surprised to be seeing him at all. "No," he said slowly. "I haven't. Why? Isn't she supposed to be at home with you?"

The other man pursed his lips and scuffed his foot against the floor in frustration at the subtle accusation. "She was gone when I woke up this morning."

"Gone? What do you mean, 'gone'?" Garret stood then, alarmed. "She shouldn't be driving. Or even doing much walking yet. It could cause too much strain on her body."

"I know that!" Woody snapped angrily at the reprimand, his temper flaring quickly. "She...she had a rough night. I guess it got to be too much and she ducked out while I was asleep. Her car's in the garage. Are you sure she's not here?"

The M.E. picked up his phone and pointed at the couch. "Sit. Kate worked the graveyard; I'll call and see if she knows anything."

But Woody was too anxious to sit, and he continued to hover as Jordan's boss dialed a number and waited while it rang. He looked up quickly when there was an answer, holding his breath as he listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Good morning, Kate, I'm sorry to wake you. Woody's here, and we're -" He was cut off when she interrupted to speak. "Yes, we're aware. Thank you." And then he hung up. "Jordan's with Kate at her house."

That was the last thing he had been expecting to hear and Woody blinked, attempting to register this information. Jordan was safe, then. And still in Boston. It also explained why her car was here when she was not. He focused on his companion again. "Is she okay?"

Garret nodded. "Kate says she's asleep. She is also upset that you let her drive."

"That I-" Woody scoffed, then stopped himself. "Jordan does whatever she wants. I couldn't have stopped her even if I had been awake." He paused, pulling in his temper, before adding, "What's her address?"

"Is this a good idea? Jordan left for a reason, after all. Maybe she needs space," the older man hedged, sitting down again and hesitating before pulling out a piece of scrap paper.

"She doesn't need space this time," Woody insisted. "Space would make things _worse_."

"I'm sure you feel that way now, but sometimes after a fight -"

"We didn't have a fight! Okay? It's -" But he ate his words, not sure it was his place to share this with anyone else, especially since most people associated Jordan thinking of her mother with Jordan going a little crazy. Even though it would alleviate the older man's anger toward himself, it still wasn't his information to be blabbing. Besides, if she had wanted Garret to know she would have gone to him. That she had gone to Kate was a surprise to say the least, but it still wasn't his life and he held his tongue. "We didn't have a fight. Please, can I have Kate's address? Jordan needs support right now, and I kind of screwed that up last night."

xXx

Woody found Kate's semi-luxury town home in a nice part of the city fairly easily. Its tailored garden and small lawn matched her personality, and he pulled into the driveway beside her car and cut his engine. He knew she and Jordan had been getting closer over the last year, but he hadn't realized they had been close enough for Jordan to trust her this much. Hopefully this was a good thing. Kate was a very grounded no-nonsense person, and Jordan needed that kind of stability at the moment.

Feeling his unease start to fade, he walked up the path to the front door and rang the bell. The large wooden door opened quickly, and there was Kate, her curly blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail behind her head. She was barefoot, wearing jeans and a black tee-shirt and Woody realized he had actually never seen her outside of a work setting before, not counting being stranded on the mountain.

"I figured I'd be seeing you after Garret called," she said dryly, stepping back to let him inside her nicely furnished home. "Are you hungry? I just made myself a veggie sandwich; I can make you one, too."

"Um, sure," Woody said slowly, only just noticing it was almost eleven thirty by now and that he really was hungry. He watched in dull surprise as Kate went to her kitchen, where an array of vegetables was still sitting out by a loaf of fresh bread. "Jordan is here, isn't she?"

The M.E. glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, she's here. She's asleep in my guest room right now, and I'm not going to let you wake her. Though I'm sure you won't be leaving until you see her, which is why I'm offering you food." She cut the stem off a large portabella mushroom cap and set it aside before adding, "She didn't tell me what was wrong, but she started pacing and talking about needing to go somewhere unfamiliar. I've heard stories - well, rumors really - of what happens when she starts acting that way, so I brought her here. Jordan has never been to my home before, so I hoped it was unfamiliar enough. I was going to call you around noon to tell you where she was."

"Thank you, Kate," Woody whispered, meaning it for the first time since he had met her.

Her face softened and she looked down, smearing some low-calorie mayonnaise onto two pieces of soft bread with a few cranks from a pepper mill and pressing some spinach on top. "I wasn't going to just let her keep driving around, and I wasn't going to let her sleep on that awful couch in her office. Her body is still trying to recover and that would only set it back. And besides, she's my friend." She added the mushroom and a few more veggies, topped with a slice of mozzarella cheese, and closed the sandwich. "Here."

He took the plate gratefully and followed her over to a lovely round oak table in a sunny part of the kitchen. "I feel horrible," he suddenly admitted as Kate took a bite of her own sandwich. "She had a really rough night, but I thought she'd fall back to sleep. If I'd known...I'd have stayed up with her. Talked her through it."

The reality of the situation hit him hard, sitting there in that bright, tidy kitchen and it felt surreal. Jordan used to at least try to open up to him about these things. Why didn't she feel like she could now?

Kate reached across the small table and touched his wrist. "There's nothing to blame yourself for, Woody. I may not know what upset her last night, or why she has been in a difficult place, but she is good at hiding things even from those people who know her best." She gave him a supportive smile. "Now that you know, all you can do is help her move forward instead of trying to correct the past."

He nodded, seeing the truth in her words and feeling the last of his nerves starting to calm. If Kate hadn't been working last night when Jordan showed up at the morgue, there's no telling where she would be right now. She may have camped out on the sofa in her office or she could be halfway to Michigan or New York or Georgia, trying to escape the demons that had appeared from the deep recesses of her mind. But she hadn't. She had allowed Kate to bring her here, to her nice, clean, _unfamiliar_ house where she felt safe enough to sleep. She was a different person now than she had been all those years ago, that horrible night Woody had begged her not to run away after Redding.

They ate in a companionable silence until, about thirty minutes later, a door upstairs opened and closed again.

"Kate?" Jordan called from somewhere in the depths of the house. "Do you mind if I take a shower? Everything is just so...clean here."

"Coming!" she replied before turning to Woody with a small grin. "Well, your better half has risen. I'll be right back."

She left him alone in the kitchen while she went upstairs to get fresh towels. Jordan was right - Kate's large town home was very clean. That's not to say their house _wasn't_ clean, but Kate's was spotless and incredibly organized. Classy with its cool tones and solid colors. But it was still lived-in and warm. Inviting, almost. He could see why Jordan felt comfortable enough to stay here as long as she did, and he was absurdly thankful that Kate had taken her in without any questions the way she had.

"Woody?"

He turned to look over his shoulder. Jordan was standing there in the open arched doorway, a blanket draped over her shoulders and a confused expression on her face.

"Kate said you were here. But what...uh, _why_ are you here?"

Not answering her question, he stood and took three sweeping steps toward her to wrap her tightly in his arms, letting his face drop down to hide against her neck. "Oh, God, Jo, I was so worried when I woke up and you were gone. I thought...I thought you'd left."

She was quiet, letting him hold her and resting her head against his shoulder for a few seconds before whispering, "I almost did."

"Why?" Woody asked, his voice pained as he pulled away just enough look into her eyes.

Jordan lowered hers, tugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders as though trying to keep off a chill that wasn't really there. In reality, she was attempting to find security in it; a warmth that seemed to have left her body since the attack and hadn't found its way back. "I dunno," she replied softly, still confused herself. "I was in my car, ready to drive until I couldn't anymore. I thought I was losing my mind, Woody, and I…I didn't want to burden you with that. You know how I get when I go cuckoo. I just…lose sight of myself, and sometimes I'll do anything to find those missing pieces. But -"

She stopped short, swallowing around the lump that had formed in her throat and meeting his gaze again. "I sat in my car for almost thirty minutes, just staring at our house and thinking about you, sleeping upstairs. I couldn't do it. Couldn't hurt you like that. Because I love you, so much. So I went back inside. But I couldn't stay there, either!" she all but wailed, confused and hurting. "I…had to get out for a while, this time with every intention of coming back. Didn't you see my note?"

Woody nodded, a small smile touching his lips. It faded quickly. "I did. I was just too afraid to believe it."

Returning his grin with a crooked one of her own, Jordan reached up and touched one of her hands to his cheek, noticing that he hadn't shaved yet. "I'm sorry. I never meant to frighten you, though I guess I should have realized that was coming, given my record. But Woody, I can't go back to that house. Not right now."

"Then let's go somewhere," he suggested, lowering his head again to kiss her temple and bring her back into his arms, needing to feel her there.

She laughed dryly. "My hospital stay kind of wiped us out financially, remember? And besides, you just started working again. Not sure your chief'd let you take time off so soon."

"It's for your health, Jo," he countered.

"Hey, guys?" Kate came back into the kitchen, and the other two people stepped apart from each other, Woody looking startled. The blonde woman just smiled. "I wasn't eavesdropping, I promise. But I did overhear what you were saying just now, about wanting to go somewhere? I have a house out in Lenox; you're welcome to stay there." They stared at her, wide-eyed, and she shrugged. "I usually rent it out during the summer, but it's open for the next two weeks."

"Lenox?" Woody asked lowly in Jordan's ear.

"It's in the western part of Massachusetts," she supplied before walking over to Kate and giving her a hug. It took the other woman by surprise, but she relaxed almost immediately. "Thank you," Jordan said sincerely. "We'll think about it."

After Kate left the kitchen again, Woody turned to Jordan, his face expectant. "So, we'll go there for a while?"

"Woody," Jordan began in that warning tone he recognized. "You pushing is not going to help."

Feeling chastised, he turned to look out the window over the sink. "You almost left me last night, Jordan," he pointed out harshly. "I think I have a right to be a little pushy right now. And I'm not trying to take you somewhere to lock you up. I'm trying to help you find a way to heal. Heal _emotionally_."

She was silent for a moment, searching for the right words and feeling utterly lost. Lacking her work, he was the only constant in her life at the moment and she was pushing him away, with only the thought of protecting him as the fathomable reason. What was scary, though, was that she had almost succeeded in cutting him out completely by the choices she had made in the midst of a spiraling insanity the night before. But she hadn't – she hadn't run – and that spoke wonders about how much she had changed and grown. They both knew it.

Finally, she walked up behind him and ran a hand up his back to rest on his shoulder. "If you can get the time, I'll go out to Lenox for a week or so. That should be all I need to get my head back on. If not…" She sighed, knowing he wasn't going to like this alternative but needing it anyway. "If not, I'll stay here with Kate. She's already offered."

"Jo -"

She held up her hand when he turned around. "Are you about to give me some cheesy crap about how you can't bear to spend a night apart now that we've spent every night together for a year or something? 'Cause that's sweet and all, but -"

"No." He took the hand in his and interlaced their fingers. "I was going to say that I'd prefer to spend the time with you in Lenox, but that I wouldn't argue if you decided to stay here instead."

"Oh."

There was real disappointment in her voice and he grinned, kissing her knuckles. "But I can say that cheesy stuff instead if you want, because I'm totally thinking it. How about…sometimes knowing I can hold you at night is the only thing that gets me through the day, and I don't know what I'll do without you by my side while I drift off sleep?"

"Yeah," Jordan chuckled, eyes on their joined hands. "That's cheesy, all right."

"But whatever we do, Jo, I only ask one thing. Just one. Okay?" He looked at her, waiting until she met his gaze before continuing. "Talk with me about it – what you're going through. You know I won't judge you."

"I'll agree on one condition," she murmured.

"What's that?"

"You do the same."

"Deal." He pulled her into another embrace, unable to resist, and he sighed in relief as she fell against him. "I take it you'll be staying here for the next few days while I work things out with my chief?" Her silence was answer enough, and he ran a hand over her hair. "I can bring you some clothes later after I stop by the precinct."


	7. Chapter 7

**I apologize for the delay! I decided to take a nice, long vacation for my birthday and completely lost track of time. I can, however, say with great confidence now that Door County, Wisconsin is rivaled in beauty only by Ireland. If you need vacation ideas, _go there_.**

**To make up for my absence, here is a longer chapter for you all. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Eden**

**Chapter 7**

Woody's boss grudgingly gave him Wednesday through the following Monday off – six days. Or at least, he made it seem grudging. Nearly every officer in the precinct knew Jordan, and every one of them wanted to see her recovery go well. When Woody said they'd hit a snag and she was going downhill, could he please have a few days to see her through it, the chief had only taken a few seconds of convincing before he gave his detective the days off. Didn't even take it out of his vacation or PTO.

Now he was gathering a few files from his desk to take, just in case he needed them while he was gone.

Santana leaned against the doorframe and knocked lightly, giving him a faint smile when he looked up briefly. "Hey, Hoyt. Heard you're taking off for a few days?" He didn't say anything, so she straightened and handed him another, unmarked, file. "Here. Tuck this in your bag. It's, uh, a copy of Jordan's case. Roz and I can't get anything else out of it, and Captain just marked it as cold this morning."

Woody took the disproportionately thin folder, staring at the smooth manila cover without opening it. "Already?" he asked after a few tense seconds. "It was opened less than two months ago. Why…?"

"We haven't gotten any new leads," the young woman explained softly. She knew he understood all this, and she didn't want to offend him by treating him like a victim's family when he was so far removed from that…and yet so close to it at the same time. "We're still going to come back every chance we get, but, well…it'll have to be under the table. I'm so sorry. We've done everything we can right now."

He nodded, swallowing harshly before he said something he'd regret. "Yeah," he choked out, slipping the file inside another and then putting both into the bag he had brought. "Thanks."

Santana came inside and touched his hand, forcing his eyes up to hers. "If there's anything we can do, Woody. And I don't mean with this case. I mean for _you_."

He nodded again, not trusting himself to respond to that. It meant a lot to him. This rookie detective had become a good partner, and she was proving herself to be just as good a friend. "I-I need to go. Jo's waiting for me."

"'Kay. I'll see you soon. Tell Jordan that I miss seeing her face around here."

xXx

Kate had been kind enough to bring Jordan by their house earlier in the day so she could pack bags for them both, so when he arrived at the M.E.'s townhome later she was ready to go. After an early dinner with her coworker, they were now on the road. It was less than a three hour drive to get from one side of Massachusetts to the other, and Woody had no doubt they'd get there by nightfall.

Unfortunately it was a painfully quiet trip. As Woody cruised down I-90, he took a quick glance over at her.

Jordan was gazing mindlessly out the window, watching as the trees zipped by and trying very hard not to think. She hadn't put on her earphones, but she wasn't even attempting to start a conversation. She didn't know what to say, what he _wanted_ her to say. This trip – getting away from everything – was going to help immensely. She knew that. She was just having a difficult time keeping herself convinced of it, and her pounding heart was making the use of her voice difficult.

"I did a little bit of reading about Lenox today," Woody started hesitantly. "Before I left work." He swallowed and wet his lips, taking a deep breath before continuing. "There's, uh, there's a lot to do there. Horseback riding. Which – oh, which you can't do right now…" He paused, shooting another quick look in her direction. She was looking out the windshield now, obviously listening. "There's also this really nice library with an art and music collection. If you're feeling up to it, we can go take a look. Some gorgeous parks, too. Oh, and a Shakespeare company! And a ballet company, and another theater group. Edith Wharton's home is there, we can visit if you want. I'm forgetting something…"

"Woody," Jordan broke in, taking advantage of his forgetfulness to speak up. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything." She reached across the car to touch his leg and give him a small smile that he only just saw. "Getting away from Boston for a few days is all I need. Really."

Woody bit his lip, color staining his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm just…I'm worried about you. But hey, if you don't wanna go out, I bet Kate's got a DVD player in there. We can hunker down and watch movies all week."

She tightened her fingers slightly on his thigh in a show of support before pulling her hand back. "I like the sound of that."

"Oh, uh…I remembered. That other thing? It's a place called…crap – Tanglewood, I think?"

Jordan's eyes actually widened when he said that, and she sat up straighter to really look at him. For one wonderful moment, she forgot about everything else. "Oh, man, you're right! I completely forgot! The Boston Symphony'd be there right now, too. It's the middle of summer. I wonder if we'd be able to get tickets at this point?"

Woody felt his heart lighten at the excitement in her voice, a hint of her old self coming to the surface. "Two tickets will be waiting for us at Will-Call, if you feel like going on Friday. I ordered them this afternoon."

"You know me pretty well, Farm Boy," she said, still smiling. "That was a really great idea. Thank you. It means a lot to me, everything you're doing."

"I would do anything for you, Jordan," he said in return.

xXx

The house, they found out an hour later, was more of a small mansion. Kate had explained to them over dinner that it had belonged to her parents, and they had left it to her after they moved out west. She had no desire to live in that part of the state, but she also didn't want to sell her parents' beloved home – so she compromised by renting it out from Boston to vacationers as a way to make some additional income. That way, she said, she could also return whenever she wanted.

Jordan got out of the Chevelle as soon as Woody cut the engine and stared up at the impressive front lawn. This house was at least twice as large as their own, and so very different. Where their new residence was open and inviting from the get-go, this one's well-manicured landscaping made it clear someone who did not live here did the gardening. That didn't mean the house wasn't loved, though, and that became apparent as soon as they let themselves inside.

The furnishings were warm, a welcoming touch for a weary traveler. Lush seating and draperies, perfectly toned accent walls hung here and there with professional painting and bookshelves filled with knick-knacks, candles, photographs, and books read many times by many people.

"This is nice," Jordan said, not protesting when Woody took her bag.

He watched her as she walked into the pretty living room. "You feeling okay?" he asked gently. "Not…painful or anything?"

She gave him a lopsided smile. "I'm okay, but I'd love a shower. You wanna bring my bag upstairs so we can find the bedroom? I, uh, shouldn't carry it."

"Yeah, sure thing." He immediately lifted it higher over his shoulder with his own and, together, they climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway. There were three bedrooms for them to choose from, and Jordan opened the second door to reveal a lovely room with a queen-sized sheer canopy bed and a bay window looking out over the spacious backyard. A door on the far side led to a large connecting bathroom with a shower and bathtub. They didn't need to ask one another to know this was the room they'd sleep in.

"Hey," Woody whispered, close beside her. She turned to look at him, and they suddenly realized this was the closest they had been in days. "I'll run out and get us a few movies while you shower. Do you want anything in particular? I'll even put up with one of those silly romantic comedies."

She grinned, reaching up to touch his cheek. "No action flicks. Other than that, I don't care."

"Okay." He smiled at her and took one step back, lingering for another second just to look at her. Then he turned and left.

She waited until she heard the front door open and close, and then his car start and pull away before she unzipped her bag and reached down under the pajamas she had packed. Her gun was there, safe and secure in its small travel case. She had a conceal carry permit for it and they hadn't crossed any state lines, so bringing it wasn't illegal. Pursing her lips, she unsnapped the case and checked the weapon's chamber. It was full.

Jordan had told herself, when she had slipped it into her bag earlier that day, that it was purely a precaution. She was still trying to convince herself that she was safe, and having her gun was only going to act as a security blanket of sorts.

That was all.

Not giving this another thought, she went to the right side of the bed and lowered it carefully into the drawer of the nightstand.

xXx

Jordan grinned when she saw the movie selection.

"_Shakespeare in Love_?" she asked, holding up the case and raising an eyebrow.

Woody chuckled, trying to hide the color rising on his neck. "The store was tiny, okay? And it's almost the Fourth of July, so everything like _Independence_ _Day_ was already gone. It was these or Christmas movies."

_Sleepless in Seattle_ was among the stack and Jordan spread them out to see the other titles, her amusement growing. _The Piano_, which she pushed aside. An old _Zorro_, an Audrey Hepburn film, and _Practical Magic_ of all things. "You really did have slim pickings, huh?"

He shrugged and glanced over her shoulder while she sorted. "We can check back again tomorrow night, see if anyone returned anything."

"This isn't too bad, I guess. Here, let's watch _Zorro_."

As she got the movie started and grabbed the bowl of popcorn to bring over to the large leather couch, Woody watched her. She seemed to be doing better. Just getting out of Boston at all had made a world of difference in her mood. Either that, or she was being masterful in her hiding of how she was really doing. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, it could be a toss up – she was doing great, or the worst was yet to come. He was honestly surprised when she sat close and leaned back toward him. Woody immediately opened his arms and wrapped them around her so she could rest half against his chest, half spread out along the rest of the sofa. Cuddling was a good sign, right?

Her hair was still damp, and he lowered his head just enough to lean gently against hers. She smelled like that bottle of travel shampoo she had, not her usual stuff, and it made the moment seem surreal. "Hey, can I ask you something?" he murmured as the movie's opening titles began to roll.

"That depends," Jordan replied somewhat sternly, her eyes not leaving the television screen. "If it's about my mom or anything to do with that, no. Something unrelated? Sure."

Woody hesitated. _Okay, maybe she's still a little rocky_. "It's not about your mom. I don't think." He paused again, relishing the fact that she wasn't stiffening in his grasp and was actually listening even if she wasn't looking at him. "That book – _East of Eden_. Is it really one of your favorites?"

"Oh." She was legitimately surprised at the question, but not necessarily in a bad way. "Yeah, it is. I've read it, like, six times. I don't know why I took such a liking to it in high school when it was required reading, but something about it just grabbed me. I think it was the only book I actually read for any class. I still have that same copy, too." She shrugged, continuing to stare at the television though not really watching the movie. "It's this cosmic battle of good versus evil on so many different levels, but the more you read and the more you learn about the characters…the more blurry the lines become. Who's the good one? Is this person really evil? I haven't read it in a few years now, but still. It got me through some rough times when I was in college."

Woody just nodded, letting silence fall as the movie's beginning scene started. _How had he never known that?_

xXx

They finished watching _Zorro_ and moved on to _Roman Holiday_, and so it was well after midnight by the time they finally decided to head to bed. Jordan let him help her up the stairs, claiming that she was starting to get a bit achy, but Woody took advantage of the closeness she was allowing him to have. It was almost like old times, coming home from a bar or from a late night of dancing when she wore the wrong shoes.

She had left a small lamp by the bed on, and the room was dimly lit when they opened the door. Romantic, almost, had that been the reason for this trip. He desperately wished it had been. If he were honest with himself, he missed her. He missed joking with her the way they had been able to do before this had happened. He missed the way she used to smile so easily, and laugh freely because she was just so happy. He missed talking with her about what he was feeling or what was going on in his head, what his day had been like, even such inconsequential things like what Seely made him eat for lunch on a childish dare. He missed her banter, and her sharing with him the cases she was working on or what ridiculous stunt Nigel had pulled. He missed the access to that place in her soul he used to have.

That was all gone. The attack and the vicious memories it had forced back into her mind had pushed all of it away.

But he hadn't had the heart to tell her that it had affected him just as strongly. He saw her, bleeding and so close to death, every time he closed his eyes. Even when she was there, alive in his arms, he still vividly remembered what it was like to see her dead on that hospital bed when he felt like his world was collapsing.

He had been through this too many times already, but only once with her. That brain tumor. All of the previous times had been with his mother, his father, Devan, Lu. Almost with Cal, too many times to count. He'd been through it, losing the people you love, until he only had one person left. And then she had nearly slipped through his fingers, too.

She was right here, right now. Alive. And yet...he couldn't say anything to her. Instead, he just climbed into his side of the plush bed and watched as she undressed and pulled on a loose tank top. The incision, still held closed with stitches, glared at him before she gently tugged the shirt down and tucked in beside him.

"You okay, Farm Boy?" Jordan asked, rolling to her side to look at him.

He turned to his side as well and studied her face silently, taking in her features. The concerned angle of her eyebrows, the glow in her whiskey eyes from the lamp, the tightness around her lips that hadn't been there in the last year but had returned in the last two weeks. She was still so beautiful. She was still _Jordan_. Still the woman he loved more than his own life. He felt the sting of tears, and he quickly squeezed his eyes closed. But she had noticed.

"Hey, Woody. It's okay." She reached out with her thumb and brushed away his tears from where they were pooling near his nose, leaving her hand to rest against his cheek. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he started to say, then stopped, covering her hand with his. "I just... I was so scared, Jo. I haven't - haven't felt that kind of fear since my father died. And it wasn't just that. I was angry - furious - and then you...you were suddenly okay again. But you s-still almost - and now -" He had to stop, unable to keep speaking without being overcome with emotion.

"And now _what_?" She pushed, her voice soft and entreating. She scooted a little closer, sliding one of her legs between his and resting her free arm against his chest. "And now what, Woody?"

"Now you're…you're _well_ again, but I still feel that way. S-scared, and angry, just like I did in the hospital when I didn't know if you'd survive." He closed his eyes again, now just wanting to feel her body everywhere it touched his. More tears had escaped from the corners of his eyes, and her strong fingers gently wiped them away. "And I miss you."

"Miss me? I'm right here." She grinned, and he could hear it in her words. But there was still something absent and they both knew it.

"You're miles away, Jordan," Woody pointed out, not sure how to voice what he had been thinking before. "It's like…who you were didn't come home with your body. You're here physically, but you're not _here_. Jo…" He paused, realizing this as he said it, "I haven't kissed you since before it happened. Not really. It's like that part of you is just…gone. And I miss you."

She was silent for a long moment before whispering sadly, "Maybe I should have left."

"No," he quickly retorted, his eyes flashing open to see that she had started to cry, too. "No. Jordan, no. God. I am so, so sorry I didn't realize what was going on. With you. But no matter what, I do not want you to leave. I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I know." A small, wry smile pulled back her lips but the warmth in her eyes was sincere. "I guess, uh…I guess I could have clued you in before having one of my, you know. Cuckoo episodes. Can't expect you to be psychic, huh?"

"Are you ready to talk?" Woody asked softly, holding her teary gaze with his own. "About your mom?"

Jordan's breath puffed out in a short sigh. She wasn't getting angry, though. Not like before. "What is there to talk about?" she shot back half-heartedly. "Obviously history is destined to repeat itself over and over until I either self-destruct or someone else kills me. This is the second time I've been attacked in my home without provocation, remember?" It was only after the words came out that she remembered she hadn't actually told Woody about the first time, the man who broke into her apartment after they'd been out dancing. But it didn't seem to faze him; he'd probably been able to figure it out on his own.

"You think you're just like her, don't you?" he said when she finally pulled her hand away from his face and curled her fingers close to her neck. Her answer was obvious. "Well, you're not. For starters, you're not a lonely housewife," he began, using something light at first. He felt her stiffen slightly as his words sunk in, so he added quickly, "That's not anything against your father, it's just a fact. Your only responsibilities are to yourself. You have a job you love, one that's perfectly suited to you. You have friends who will drop everything to help you when you need it, or who are willing to give you just as much space. That's a safety net."

"Come on, Woody, that's not -"

"And if you want technicalities?" he continued over the start of her protests. "You're already older than she was. You're not married - and I'm not trying to change that, by the way. You don't have any kids. You may have been arrested a few times, but you've never had to be institutionalized."

"Hey, all of those charges were dropped," she pointed out, but she was smiling again.

"Yeah, they were. Thanks to me." He returned her smile and took her hand in his so that he could have both of hers clasped against his chest, near his heart. "Do you remember the first time we went out to Hollywood, working that case? When we got stranded in the desert after our car broke down?"

"Uh, yeah," she said, her grin softening. "I remember that."

He flushed, just enough to turn the tips of his ears red. "I don't mean _that _part. Do you remember what we were talking about?"

"Vaguely. Care to enlighten me?"

"We were talking about recreating ourselves. You know, changing our situations to make our lives better. You may not have always gone about it in a way that worked out for the best every time, but you always tried. And that? _Trying_, instead of letting your emotions swallow you? That is what sets you the furthest apart from your mother. She was stuck in a never-ending circle that ended up with her on the wrong end of a bad situation. You, on the other hand...you are forever pulling yourself out of that circle." He fell silent for a moment to be sure she was listening before adding, "And that is why history will not repeat itself."

"Woody?"

"Mhmm?"

"Kiss me."

He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly, but she retracted one of her hands from his loose grasp and reached it behind his neck to pull him closer until she could press her lips to his. All he could do was lie there in shock for a moment, too surprised to respond, before his heart chased away the fear and the anger it had been battling and fully opened itself to her. He kissed her back eagerly, not ashamed this time of the new wave of tears that burned his eyes. She was coming back to him.

"Your doctor," he took a second to remember. "He said no sex."

She just gave him a large smile. "We don't need to have sex, Farm Boy. I just want you to kiss me. Make up for the time I've been…missing."

And so he kissed her again, this time gently guiding her onto her back so he could have better access to the rest of her body. He pressed his lips to her neck, kissing a line up to her ear. "Tell me if I hurt you."

She just cupped his face in her hands and brought his mouth back to hers. "You'll never hurt me, Woody."


	8. Chapter 8

**As always, thank you to everyone who has been reading and a special thanks to those who have reviewed. I appreciate every one of you.**

* * *

_**Eden**_

**Chapter 8**

The next day dawned bright and fresh, filled with the promise of a new start that Jordan had been looking for. She stretched softly, careful of both her stitches and of Woody, who was still asleep with his arms tight around her waist. Feeling him spooned behind her, she grinned crookedly and closed her eyes against the morning sun streaming through the big bay windows. He had been so gentle with her the night before, so affectionate, and she felt herself falling in love with him all over again with every kiss, chasing away the demons that had been plaguing her for the last several weeks.

She knew that he had taken her attack hard, but she had been so wrapped up in her own turmoil that she'd had a difficult time being as supportive as she could have been. Just as he had been, unable to see her own struggle. They'd drifted apart, and she was relieved beyond belief that they were able to find one another again so easily.

Moving slowly, Jordan rolled over in his arms so she could look at him. His face was so peaceful, lacking the lines and stress he had been carrying since that awful day. She reached out and ran a single finger lightly down his jaw, reveling in her calming emotions.

A few minutes of simply watching him later, Woody's eyes peeked open and caught sight of her. She grinned, pulling her hand back, almost embarrassed. "G'morning."

"Hey," he said softly, smiling widely and going back to that charming, innocent Wisconsin Boy Scout she'd fallen for so many years ago. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. You, uh, you want some coffee?"

Woody stretched briefly before turning back to pull Jordan closer. She settled easily against his chest. "Not yet. You're blushing," he pointed out humorously. "I want to view this rare sight for as long as I can."

"I am not blushing!" she retorted, but his calling her out just made the color deepen. "And besides, I want to look at my case. I know you have it."

He immediately tensed when he heard those words, the light joy of the moment dying away. "I...are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It's cold, isn't it?" she asked softly, reading the fear on his face easily. "When?"

"Yesterday. I'm so sorry," Woody whispered, trying to reach for her hand but stopping when she recoiled slightly. "But they're going to look into it every chance they get; even Seely's going to help. So it's only cold by status, that's all."

Jordan fully extracted herself from both his grasp and the warm bed, standing up and looking for her discarded tank top, horribly unwanted tension starting to build again. "If you don't show me that file willingly, I'll just look for it on my own. Is…Woody, is there something in there you don't want me to see?" She had turned slightly to gaze at him over her shoulder, but he wouldn't meet her eyes as he sat up, too.

He was silent for a heartbeat before breathing, "A photograph. Of you."

"…What?" Her arms went limp, the flannel pants she had just picked up from the foot of the bed almost falling to the floor.

"I don't know when it was taken," he supplied quickly once his voice returned, "but it was in that envelope with the card. The one given to me in the precinct, right before I left to come home and…found you."

Jordan nodded slowly, staring at her hands in dull shock. "Show me."

xXx

Thirty minutes later, the file and its small amount of copied evidence was spread out on the mahogany kitchen table. Jordan was sitting before it, reading over the few pages of reports with Woody leaning against her chair with a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"There's nothing here," Jordan whispered, carefully controlled fury lacing her words. "Just…just everything standard to any investigation. No suspects? No real evidence? Not even any trace evidence except a black fiber and the fucking knife tip that broke off because I jerked to get away – the analysis of which only came back to say it was a shitty blade made of shitty metal that still would have killed me?" She picked up the vivid color copies of the card and photograph Woody had received and scowled down at the grainy picture of herself, studying it for the second time. "I don't even know when this could have been taken. How long have they been watching?"

"Jordan, it's -"

"It's not _fine_, Woody!" she snapped, dropping the papers back to the table and looking up at him, her eyes flashing with anger. "It's not fine, it's not going to be _okay_, it _is_ a big deal."

"That's not what I was going to say," he said gently, battling back his own anger at the case only so he could help her through hers. He'd had a feeling this was going to happen, that letting her look through all of this so soon was going to push her back down a few of the steps they'd taken the night before. Wanting to be closer and more at her level, he reached for another chair and dragged it over, sitting down and grasping her hands tightly. "I was going to say, it's not an answer we can find right now, but we're not going to give up. This isn't going to turn into your mother's case."

Jordan started to pull her hands away but stopped herself, recognizing that she wasn't angry at him but at the situation and trying to keep it that way. It wasn't his fault. "You can't promise that."

"No," Woody agreed, pushing a strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear. "I can't. But I can promise that this affected me just as much as it did you, even if it affected me differently. I want these bastards as badly as you do."

There was silence for a few seconds while he stared at her and she dropped her gaze, unable to handle the unhidden adoration in his blue eyes. "I remember, Woody," she suddenly whispered. "Between the nightmares about…you know. It came back, bit by bit. I remember what happened. How -" She halted, forcing the air out of her lungs and turning her face toward the large windows over the kitchen sink. "How can there be nothing here? Just dead ends and no leads? They tried to kill me, Woody. They _knew who I was_."

"Jordan…" He used a gentle finger under her chin to bring her face back around, hoping to catch her eyes. They were stormy, a hatred he had only seen a handful of times burning in their honey depths that took him off guard. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because nothing I remembered would help!" she spat venomously, standing quickly to pace the room. Woody didn't follow her, and she was oddly grateful. She needed space right then, and, though she knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, him being so close was making her feel claustrophobic even when she had enjoyed it so much just an hour earlier.

She came to a stop in front of a window and crossed her arms over her chest, forcing herself to continue talking. "There were two of them, but they wore masks. Black ski masks. So cliché, right? Dressed in all black, too. No distinguishing or identifying marks. Had knives, which was either stupid or very smart. We'd've been able to trace bullets and a gun right back to them." Her voice tapered off, and Woody almost thought she was going to walk away and leave it at that, but she kept going, staring out the window and focusing on something far in the distance.

"I was getting something to drink in the kitchen. Water. Lily had left two hours ago and I'd just finished a load of laundry I didn't do the weekend before. There was a scraping noise on the porch, like someone scuffing their foot on that loose board to the left of the door, by the window. We haven't fixed that yet…"

She took a deep breath, still not moving. Woody didn't move either, both horrified and enraptured by what she was revealing to him.

After a moment, her words cut through the stillness. "I knew something was wrong and I had already started moving toward the stairs, wanting to get my gun. But there was one knock on the door and then it was kicked in. I had locked it after Lily left. I…ran for the stairs and was halfway up, but one of them grabbed my leg and pulled me down. I kicked him. Or her, I guess. We both fell and he slammed my head into the floor. Twice. I, uh, still had my water glass in my hand so I smashed it into his face to get him off me." Jordan paused again, gathering her thoughts. "By then the other one had blocked my way upstairs. Pushed me into the counter and pulled out a knife. I grabbed one of the bar stools and swung it. It hit him in the arm, and I swung it again when he staggered so it hit him it the chest. He fell back."

Woody remembered the broken stool against the wall when he'd entered the house, and it made sense now. But he didn't speak, completely unable to yet. "The first guy – he came toward me again, so I just chucked the stool at him. It hit his head and he fell against the wall. I threw that vase – the ugly one from Nigel – at him, too. Books, anything I could get my hands on. Somehow I ended up back in the kitchen and saw that cast iron pan in the sink. I grabbed it. One of them came toward me again and I smacked him with it. Side of the head. Hit him two more times, and he fell. But the other one…he came at me too fast, and I couldn't hit him and the other one at the same time and then…one of 'em had me and the other…the other…" There were silent tears streaming down her face now, yet she refused to acknowledge them.

"He got me with the knife. It hurt _so bad_. But I guess adrenaline kicked in even stronger and – and I felt the one holding me hesitate so I twisted out of his grip in another attempt to get away. The knife tore my organs; I could feel it. And then…suddenly they were gone and I was on the floor in the hallway. I…I…knew the closest phone was by the couch, so I tried to get over there to call someone because I knew I was going to die if I didn't, but I couldn't make it. It was black, and then…you were there. I..I couldn't…couldn't…"

Woody had started to cry, too, and he couldn't resist any longer, not giving a damn if she wanted space or not. He stood and went to her, wrapping her in his arms from behind and lowering his face to hide against her soft hair as the same sickness he'd felt when he found her rose in his stomach. Hearing her recount what happened was horrendous, and realizing once again how close she'd come to dying in his arms made his head spin. "Oh, Jordan. Oh, sweetheart."

"That's it," she said quietly, stiff in his arms and trying to convince her body to relax against him knowing instinctively he needed the comfort just as much as she did. "That's what happened. Next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. You had saved me."

"You saved yourself, Jo," Woody choked out, surprising himself with how hard he had started to cry. He held her tighter, squeezing his eyes closed and letting the warmth of her body reassure him that she really was alive.

She let out a long, slow sigh before finally turning around in his grasp and cupping his face in her hands. She wanted to apologize to him for her erratic behavior, she wanted to tell him how much she loved him and how much he meant to her, she wanted to tell him that he really had saved her life. But all that came out was the surface of the truth she was feeling right then. "I need to know who it was, Woody. I need to know who wanted me dead so badly. And with…with everything it brought up…I think the only way I'm going to keep from going insane is with closure. It can't end up like my mom's case."

Pain blossomed in his eyes and Jordan pressed both of her thumbs over his lips before he could speak. "Being here, away from Boston, with you – probably the only person who has ever successfully pulled me back from that edge – will help so much. But I just…"

"You need to know," Woody finished, understanding where she was coming from and not judging her for it at all. He swallowed around the large lump still in his throat, immense guilt pooling in his stomach to intermingle with the lingering nausea. "This is probably all my fault. It probably happened because of some case I worked on. Revenge or something. You were attacked because of me."

"Woody, stop."

The command in her voice made him fall silent and look at her and, for the first time since they had woken up that morning, there was a soft light in her eyes. "That kind of thinking will make you crazy," she whispered sagely before giving him a very small grin. "Take it from someone who _knows crazy_."

"Two peas in a pod, aren't we?" he asked, closing his eyes and reveling in the feeling of her hands against his face.

"Pretty much." She rocked forward slightly to press her forehead against his, her eyes cast down. "Why the powers that be or whatever exists out there ever thought it would be a good idea to throw us together, I will never know. Your temper is almost as bad as mine when you're set off by the wrong things."

Woody just chuckled dryly. "Yeah, well. I guess we've both had rough lives."

Suddenly – and much too soon for his liking – Jordan dropped her hands and stepped away, cutting the moment short and effectively shutting down the conversation. "I'm going to go find a book to read and sit out in that nice sunroom. Did you see how many books there are in here?" she asked, turning to walk away. Her voice faded while she padded barefoot into the spacious and luxuriously furnished study down the hall.

He watched her robed back as she left him, still standing there in the kitchen. _She _was_ getting better, wasn't she? _he asked himself, listening to her indistinct voice now in the other room, naming titles out loud – possibly to him, possibly to no one – to find one to read. He himself was furious that the case had been cast aside, cold, even though he knew Santana and Framus would look at it whenever they could. He was having a very difficult time coming to terms with her near-death, and now this? Now knowing the people who did it could very well have gotten away with it? No. It was unfathomable.

But if she was driven off, or driven crazy, or if she was never able to get the closure she so desperately needed to find peace –

"Woody!"

Immediately pulled from his thoughts by her sharp voice, he dashed from the kitchen and down the hall, his heart starting to clench. But she wasn't hurt. She was standing rigidly in front of one of the many bookcases, her finger paused in front of a book. He broke his run, instead coming up behind her slowly and placing a hand on her shoulder, almost afraid to startle her. "Jordan, what is it? Are you okay?"

She didn't answer right away, and Woody followed her gaze to the shelf, then to her hand, and then to the spine of the book she had stopped in front of. _East of Eden_. Another of John Steinbeck's works, _The Grapes of Wrath_, was beside it, surrounded by many novels by Edith Wharton and other American classics.

"Isn't…isn't this that book you were telling me about yesterday?" he asked softly, feeling weird as he looked at it.

"Yes," Jordan finally said. "This is the book those words came out of. I'm – I'm fine, just surprised. You know, to find it here." Not hesitating any longer, she slid her fingers around the spine and slipped the book off the shelf. "I've read it so many times. I'll probably read it again, too, I just… I don't understand. Why? Why did he choose those two phrases?"

"Can you show them to me?" Woody covered her hands over the book with his, keeping his eyes down. "I, uh, I mean, if you remember where they are."

"Here. I do. Vaguely, anyway."

She pulled her hands away and flipped the book open toward the beginning. Through the chapters she skimmed, her lips moving silently as her eyes flew. She didn't have to search too far, and she found what she was looking for at the start of chapter eight. "Right there. Introducing a new character. It's beautiful writing, really. Why did someone have to twist it like that, to use against…against us?"

That was the first time she had said _us_ rather than _me_, and Woody met her gaze briefly to show how much that small gesture meant to him before carefully taking the book to read where she pointed. There were the words, printed right on the paper. Insignificant though it might seem, that meant something.

Letting out a soft sigh, Jordan reached around him for an anthology of poetry instead. "I'm gonna go get some coffee and read for a while. You okay?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah." He looked up at her, catching her worried whisky eyes with his. If he were honest, he didn't know what to feel right then, holding that book in his hands.

She gave him a soft smile and leaned forward to press a chaste – though only because he was taken off guard – kiss to his lips. "Let me read for a while and then we can go out somewhere. I should be up for that. Though maybe not horseback riding."

Once again he watched as she walked away, this time to get her coffee and go find a place to sit for an hour or so. He felt a little better, knowing that she was feeling all right – mentally and physically. And, while she read, he would go call Santana and make sure she knew about where those phrases had come from.

As though it would make any difference.


	9. Chapter 9

**I apologize for the delay in getting this posted! Life has a way of sneaking up on us, doesn't it?**

**As always, thanks so much to every one of you for reading, and especially to those of you who review. I truly appreciate it. There will be two chapters after this before Eden is finished, totaling at eleven. **

* * *

_**Eden**_

**Chapter 9**

Jordan sat on one of the plush benches built into the bay window in the bedroom. It was dark, well past midnight - probably closer to three or four in the morning - but she was unable to sleep. She'd crawled out of bed about an hour ago, leaving Woody sleeping soundly and not yet having noticed her absence, and grabbed one of the many throw blankets from amid the pillows on the bench to wrap around her shoulders while she stared listlessly out the spotlessly cleaned glass.

The garden below in the spacious backyard had a fountain, and she could just hear it, the water trickling down over the many tiers into the large cement pool at the bottom. The moon cast a silvery glow over the flowers and plants, and she leaned her head against the chilly window, her gaze falling over the various flora. She and Woody had walked through that garden after dinner once it had cooled off a little; she had joked lightly, lamenting the fact that theirs at home would never be so lovely. Though "lovely" was a word that fell short to describe this one. The sights and smells were breathtaking. The time and money that must have gone into cultivating all of those plants likely went back generations.

She let out the breath she had been holding, her thoughts beginning to wander as they had been doing all night.

This time she thought of her home. Her beloved home, where she had been living happily with her best friend for months now. She had come to terms better with what had happened since she had put space between herself and where it had taken place, and she knew with gratifying clarity that she would be able to return there once their time in Lenox was done. Maybe rearranging furniture in the living room would rid the remaining demons from the space, and she could be fully cleansed of the incident. From the physical perspective, anyway.

Emotionally... Yes, she was doing better. Realizing that was a relief so palpable it felt like water across her skin. It was still going to take a while to get back to where she had been before all of this had happened, but she knew it was possible this time.

Jordan had grown so much over the last few years she was practically a different person than she had been. Certainly in a different _mindset_. She still remembered - quite vividly - the raw and uncontrollable emotion that fueled her to chase Redding, that had pushed her over a cliff into a bottomless pit she was quite certain at the time there was no coming back from. That same uncontrollable urge had pushed her through the ordeal with Malden, and with her brother. Countless other times she had come just as close to losing herself the same way. Every single one of those times, the connection had been clear: Her mother. Sometimes there were lies from her childhood thrown in for a good spin on her head, or her father would disappear or reappear, but it always came down to her mother and that was her undoing.

She could have just as easily lost herself again with this. The similarities were too many for comfort, and her brain made the connections too fast and too often. But, a tribute to just how far she had come, she had accepted the stumbles and righted herself before she fell too far.

After their conversation the previous night, Jordan couldn't hide the fact that she was worried about Woody. She knew he would be okay, too, but he had taken all of this harder than she had expected. Though really, she shouldn't have been surprised at his reaction. Not after both his mother and father had died - his father at someone else's hands. The very same thing had happened to Lu. He had already lived through far too much loss, and hers would have been the metaphorical straw that broke the camel's back. Even if he wouldn't say it out loud, she knew.

A sudden noise on the other side of the house broke through her thoughts. She sat up, rigid on the bench, listening. Complete silence met her ears.

_You're being paranoid, Jordan_, she told herself after a moment, trying to relax again. But then, just as suddenly as before, she heard something else - something definitely inside the house. It sounded like something being slid on the tile floor of the mudroom, the door of which she knew she had left open into the kitchen. She recognized that sound; she had stubbed her toe on a heavy laundry basket stored in there earlier and kicked it across the room. It had made the same noise, though this one was significantly softer.

Not pausing this time, not even to wake Woody or consider what he would say, she tip-toed to her bedside table, slid it open, and pulled out the gun she had stored in there. If someone had gotten into the house, like hell was she going to wait for _them_ to find _her_ this time.

Quiet as she could be, she slid through the cracked door and into the shadowy hallway, pausing far back at the landing of the stairs. Faint voices could be heard far below, definitely from the kitchen. Her heart stopped for one horrifying second, and then she backed away toward the bedroom again. It was them. She could feel it.

But instead of going into the bedroom, where Woody was still sleeping, she eased herself into a closet nearby, leaving the door open a hair, just enough to see a sliver of the hall. They weren't going to have the upper hand this time. Woody would wake up as soon as he heard them get closer, and it would be an even fight.

They had started to come up the stairs, and it sounded like their hushed voices were arguing.

"Just look in the bedrooms!" one of them - a woman - whispered angrily. "If you're too _frightened_, I'll do the deed myself."

The other one, a man with a significantly deeper voice, responded immediately, "I just don't think this is right! They're asleep!"

Jordan drew further back into the closet as they passed, opening the door to the empty bedroom on the left on their way, but they didn't see her. Then they opened the door that hid the room where Woody was sleeping and Jordan's heart leapt into her throat. But they didn't do anything, instead pulling back down the hall toward the stairs, their black clothes letting them meld into the darkness, features completely hidden.

The woman hissed in frustration. "Where is she? This won't work without her." The man didn't respond, and Jordan heard the unmistakable sound of a hand hitting fabric. "Search up here," she commanded cruelly. "I'll look downstairs. And for all things holy, be _quiet_!"

Jordan wet her lips and held her breath, listening to the sound of the man's footsteps heading for the room at the other end of the hall as she devised a quickly thought-out plan. Woody had to be awake by now, and he was probably doing the same thing from the bed - and likely wondering frantically where she was. But she wouldn't be able to get to him without the intruder seeing her. So. She'd have to work from here. She still had her weapon, and she had a pretty intimate knowledge of the human body. She could use that. She would just have to wait until he got a little closer, as she didn't want to give herself away too quickly. Of course, he was going to look in this closet before long, so she couldn't wait forever either.

She peered carefully through the slit she had left in the door. His back was still toward this end of the hall, but now she could see a dangerous hunting knife held tightly in his right hand as he leaned to check a bathroom. The sight made her blood run cold, and she squeezed her eyes closed for a brief second to pull her courage back. If she didn't fight, she would die. End of story.

He turned to come back this way, his cursory search of the other end done, and she backed away before he could see the glimmer of moonlight on her face. One step after another brought him closer until, just a few heartbeats later, he was standing, once again, in front of the bedroom that really had been hers. His back was to her now and, silent as a cat stalking prey, she pushed the door open and crept silently up behind the hulking man.

Moving quickly, she hit him soundly with the butt of her gun at the base of his neck. It did about as much damage as she expected, and he staggered, turning to face her in a surprise that prevented him from calling out. Acting before he had a chance to make any other movement, she reached out and jabbed her thumb into a sensitive pressure point on his neck where the shoulder met it, using her fore- and middle fingers to squeeze.

His expression turned to one of pain and his jaw dropped to make a cry, but no sound came out as the sharp hunting knife fell from his slackening grasp to drop noiselessly on the carpet. It took a few seconds, but he fell to his knees before her. She followed him, not letting go. Releasing her grip after another few seconds, she hit him in the head with her gun once more and this time he began to fall at her feet, unconscious. She caught his body before he could make a thud on the floor, aware that there was someone more dangerous in the house.

Only mildly worried about him, she checked the man's pulse. He was still alive.

It was then she noticed Woody, who had come out of the bedroom behind the attacker with his gun raised. Even in the darkness of the hall, she could see the shock on his face. Those gentle hands of hers had just as easily taken down a fully grown man without even trying.

"I've called the police," he whispered, coming to stand close beside her and eying the gun he hadn't even been aware she'd brought.

Jordan just nodded mutely, stooping to pick up one of the knives that may have nearly killed her and placing it behind a box on the top shelf of the closet where she had been hiding. If the man on the floor woke up, he wouldn't find it there.

Woody watched her, rage and that sick fear from the hospital those weeks ago warring inside him. She seemed completely in control of the situation, giving him a steadiness that he needed. "Downstairs?"

She just inclined her head in the affirmative.

Together, they padded silently to the top of the stairs and listened. "Jo, maybe you should stay here. Watch this guy -"

"Just go."

Not willing to argue any more, Woody went carefully down the stairs, angled to see as best he could down the dark hall that led to the dining and living rooms. She let him lead, if only because his police training made his senses slightly sharper and more honed than hers in situations like this. Instead, she kept her eyes focused behind, in case the woman had come around them.

He swept into the black dining room, their eyes adjusted enough to see that it was empty. The living room was vacant as well, as was the kitchen. Jordan's heart was thudding and she could feel it against her throat, making it difficult to breathe now. _Where was she?_

They entered the study next, a spacious room that had two large arched entryways – one leading into the foyer and the other they were coming through – rather than doors. This room was darker than the others; the moon was facing the other side of the house and the curtains had been drawn against the sun much earlier, and the many bookcases, deep sofas, and tables cast shadows that were difficult to distinguish.

Woody walked in one step at a time, his arms holding his gun aloft steadily and following his eyes as they traced the room. Jordan turned, holding her breath as she blinked, trying desperately to see something through the darkness.

"Where's my brother?"

The voice came from the far side of the room, and both Woody and Jordan jumped, spinning in an attempt to find the person who had spoken. They couldn't see her, not even a vague outline. Her black clothes made her almost invisible.

"Don't move," Woody commanded, his words ringing with the authority he only used when he was in full police mode. "Stay right where you are. You are under arrest."

"Where is my brother?" she asked again. Her voice was rising in pitch to sound both hysterical and laced with an anger so sincere in made their skin crawl. "Did you hurt him?"

"Your brother is fine," Jordan said softly, raising her own gun now that she could pinpoint where the other woman was.

There was no response, and neither had a warning before the intruder ran a surprisingly short distance across the room and slammed bodily into Jordan, who knocked into Woody with enough force to send him backward. Both women tumbled to the ground, the gun falling from her grasp and away into the darkness. All Jordan felt was a lithe, savage form on top of her, a solid punch to the side of her face, blood in her mouth, and Woody yelling somewhere very far away. She struggled, but pain flared to life in her side from her previous wounds and she found it nearly impossible to draw a breath into her lungs. It was the knife – a knife similar to the one she had hidden upstairs though this one had a broken tip – that spurred her to fight and take the pain.

The woman had pulled her fist back for another blow, but it was sloppy and Jordan had just enough time to block it and roll to the side. Their legs were tangled and the woman went with her, pulling viciously at her hair and screaming. An intense fire in her abdomen was enough evidence to tell her that her stitches had ripped, but she didn't care as the woman now under her started thrashing out with her knife. She grabbed the wrist holding the knife right at the joint and twisted it in a way she knew it shouldn't turn. The woman cried out, the weapon dropping quite against her will to the floor. But then, in some renewed fit of anger, she jerked her hand away and got in another hit to the bottom of Jordan's jaw with an open palm, using the momentum to shove her backwards again.

Woody was still somewhere off to the side, having gotten to his feet again and screaming at the attacker to stop, but there was nothing he could do in the dark when he couldn't see – couldn't risk hurting Jordan – and it was killing him. Jordan could vaguely hear him, but she was beyond wondering where exactly he was. She just needed to make this stop. She could feel hot, slick blood running down her side from where the newly-opened wound had ruptured.

And then she saw it through the shadows: A cast-iron cat. A decoration just within arm's reach now that she was on her back again.

Reaching blindly so she wouldn't take her eyes off the attacker, she grabbed the cat and swung it upwards. The iron connected with her skull, the sickening thud heard easily in the sudden silence. The woman fell limply on top of her, unconscious.

It had lasted less than fifteen seconds.

Jordan lied there, staring at the ceiling in shock as the heavy decoration thumped to the floor to dent the wood, not even able to take stock of her injuries yet. Woody rushed forward then, shaking so badly he was almost unable to lift the weight of the woman off of her. "Jordan," he whispered, kneeling beside her and taking her face in his hands. His gun, still unholstered, was on the floor beside him. "Oh, my God. Jordan. Jo, say something."

She was silent for a moment longer, her brain still processing as sirens could finally be heard in the distance, before cracking half a smile. "Cast iron saves the day again…"

"I'm sorry I couldn't…I didn't…" He shook his head. Blue flashing lights filled the room through a slit in the curtains. "You're covered in blood! Jesus. Why didn't I -"

"It was dark, Woody," Jordan said, cutting him off before he could blame himself. "You might have made the situation worse if you had intervened, and I'm pretty sure you hit your head when you fell. Could you even tell us apart?" His silence was enough of an answer. She grimaced in intense pain when she allowed him to help her sit up just before the police came inside. "I'm…gonna need to get to the hospital. Like, now."


End file.
